Bird Watching
by WinterD
Summary: A series of shorts about Bruce raising the boys from a young age.
1. One: Nesting

Title: Bird Watching

Summary: Alternate reality where Bruce is raising the boys together from a very young age.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. DC and others own all.

AN: Just an idea that's been kicking around in my head for awhile. It's going to be a mix bag here, guys, of angst and (hopefully) cute and fluffy family moments. However, I've not really written the Batfam before, so we'll have to see how this goes.

One: Nesting

An early autumn chill along with a steady, gloomy rain had settled over the city during the first week of October with no promise of relief until the end of next at the earliest. That was nothing new for Gotham, where fog or mist or dampness in general seemed to have a perpetual place in the city's overall ambiance. Fall rains would lead to winter snow which begot spring showers which turned to summer storms. And thus the cycle continues.

Perched atop one of the city's older business buildings downtown, Batman watched a few bright and dark umbrellas moved around one another under actual brightly lit sidewalks. The streets themselves were empty enough to allow easy traffic flow, so no one was screaming at one another from their cars or using their horns to convey their displeasure. Aside from the rain that was steadily beating against head and shoulders, everything was oddly quiet and calm.

If he hadn't just put the Joker back in Arkham a few hours before, it would put him on edge. As it were, though, this was the calm after the storm. The criminals were safely back where they belong, and the city would wake to another soggy sunrise and headlining story of the Joker's failed attempt at mayhem.

Diving off the building edge, Batman allowed himself to remain in free fall for only a few moments before firing his grappling gun at the edge of a shorter building. No one on the street looked up, but he saw a surprised face or two watching him from a few windows. Most wouldn't be able to identify what it was they saw; not in the dark and most certainly not in the rain. Those who did would loose sight of him before anything could be done.

Grappling from building to building, Batman landed softly in a tucked away alley a few blocks away. There was a black car there which blended in with the silent shadows that surrounded it. However, it jumped to life as he approached. The sudden activity started a cat and sent it scrambling across his path, but nothing else around made any sort of indication in noticing that anything had changed. Warm air hit him as he slid in behind the wheel and departed out of the alley.

"Batman to Penny One," Bruce said as he glided his car through the wet streets with practice ease. "I'm returning to the cave now."

"Very good, sir," Alfred replied. Despite the late hour and tiring long evening, not any sort of fatigue colored his tone. Nor any worry. "Shall I prepare the medical station for your arrival?"

The corner of Bruce's lips gave a minute twitch. It was a so small that no one who didn't know him would have noticed it, but he was glade that Alfred couldn't see him. It was a legitimate question. Most of his confrontations with the Joker usually ended with him needed medical attention of some sorts. Acid burns or broken bones or stab wounds were the norm for such encounters. This night, however, had only resulted in a few bruised ribs and knuckles. It was the easiest he had gotten away with in a fight with the psychopath in years by far.

"No," Bruce said. "I'll be arriving shortly. Batman out."

He cut the line and returned his focus solely to the task at hand.

After crossing the bridge, city lights gave way to darker country lanes. Dead leaves merged with the rain until it felt as if just as many of them were falling as the droplets of water. The straightforward roads began to twist. Finally, he turned into the cave's entrance and home.

He wasn't surprised to find the cave empty, but Bruce did frown when the sound the chirping bats overhead reached him. He squinted up into the darkness but couldn't make any of them out. It was large group, though; or it had just been too long since he could hear them.

After a quick shower and change into sweats, Bruce headed up. Alfred was waiting for him in the study with his hands tucked properly behind him and back ramrod straight. A frown pulled tightly on his lips, and Bruce would have thought that he was angry if it weren't for the slight softness around his eyes.

"Master Bruce," he said, "if you would please follow me."

Even with all the changes that happened over the past few months, Wayne Manor was general quiet in the predawn hours since its inhabitants should be safely tucked away in their beds. Normally, Bruce would have been home hours ago, and Alfred wouldn't start his day for another two at least. So there shouldn't be a reason for anyone to be wondering the halls at this time of night. Nor should there be a reason for the flashing, yet silent, light of a television playing in the family room.

Vicki Vale looked down at him and was silently giving a report of his earlier fight. A shaky, amateur cell phone video of the Joker standing in the middle of a street played in the corner before enlarging to cover the whole screen. It was a little hard to tell, but he was waving a detonator around madly. One press of that button and the entire block would have been flooded with Joker gas. The rain hadn't set in for the evening just yet then, so the wind was rushing through the city with an angry howl. It would have spread the gas for another five blocks at least. Bruce could almost hear the Joker's laugh as the televised version of him threw his head back with his best supervillian cackle. Which was right about the same time that a batarang knocked the detonator from his hand. A moment later, Batman was swooping down upon him like a vengeful wrath. The scene paused just he was landing a punch to the Joker's face, and then shrank back to its original side. Vicki said something else to the audience, and then turned to have a discussion with a man who was wearing a slightly wrinkled suit and obviously had had too much coffee.

None of that interested Bruce as much, however, as the four young boys who were passed out on the over-sized couch.

Not unexpectedly, Dick was in the center of the group. His head was titled back with his neck twisted at an odd angle as it rested against the back of the couch. He had changed into his pajamas since earlier when Bruce stopped by the cave to analyze some substances. Dick was at the computer when arrived and asked too many questions for Bruce to answer at the time. He hadn't appreciated being sent to bed, even though he should have been there nearly an hour before then. Apparently, Dick had made it as far changing in his night clothes, but that was all.

Since his legs were stretched out and resting on the coffee table in front of the couch, Bruce noted that the bottom of Dick's pants didn't make it all down to his ankles anymore. Bruce knew that twelve-year-olds grew fast, but this was third time Dick needed new clothes in the past few months since he had come to live him. It was getting...excessive.

Nearly hidden against Dick's side with one of his lanky arms draped around him is Damian. He was clutching his stuffed dog with bright red cape tightly while he buried his face partially into the back of its soft head. His tiny feet were tucked under him, but Bruce could tell he had on the footy pajamas that Alfred had bought the boy when they realized that he constantly seemed cold despite the warmer summer months. He had spent his first year of life in a desert, so Gotham was understandably much colder to him.

On the other side was Tim. He had his head resting somewhat against Dick's chest, and his mouth was cracked opened showing off a gap between two of his teeth. A soft, snoring-whistle sound accompanied every breath that he took as he held onto a small section of Dick's shirt. His legs were pulled up on the couch and had weaved themselves underneath Jason's bent knees so that his feet were tucked warmly behind Jason's hip.

Jason was curled up in a ball with his back resting against the arm rest and his face and shoulder leaning heavily against the back cushion. His arms were crossed and turned that way as well while his feet were pushed down between the two cushions that separated him and Tim. Dick's other arm was draped across the top of the couch so that his hand was just barely touched the top of Jason's knees.

Bruce's lip twitched for a second time that night. Alfred didn't bother with hiding his own found grin.

"I found them this way when I came up to let Master Dick know you were on your way home," he said. "He was rather worried when you set out to face the Joker earlier this evening."

Bruce had noticed that earlier, too. This was the first time that Batman went against the Joker since the boys had come to live here. Knowing what they know – especially Dick – his worried reaction was understandable. It was one of the reasons that Bruce had insisted that Dick go to bed in hopes that maybe if he feel asleep he'd realize that Bruce would be fine. He had fallen asleep, that was true, just not in the right spot or without company.

Reaching out, Bruce touched his shoulder and said, "Dick."

With a sharp intake of breath, Dick lifted his head and blinked groggily up at him.

"Oh, hey, Bruce," he said with a yawn. Lifting his hand from around Damian, he rubbed at his face with his palm. "What time is it?"

"Late," he replied. "What are you doing in here?"

Ducking his head a little, Dick said, "Tim and Jason couldn't sleep, so we thought we'd watch some TV until you got home."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And Damian?"

"Well, we couldn't _not_ include Little D," Dick said as if the very thought was crime against nature itself.

With another twitch of his lip, Bruce realized he was in very real danger of actually smiling and inadvertently encouraging this sort of thing. Time to put an end to this.

"Take Damian back to bed," he said.

With a sigh, Dick went about untangling himself from others. He sat up a little, trying to be careful and not cause Damian to wake up, and pried Tim's hand off his shirt. Damian grumbled unhappily at Dick's movements but didn't seem to wake up all the way.

As he was doing this, Bruce was dislodging Tim's legs from behind Jason's hip. He didn't so much as twitch as Bruce maneuvered him around, but he hadn't really expected him to. Making Tim go to sleep was a challenge, but once the boy was asleep, he was going to sleep for a solid eight hours and nothing short of an ice bucket of water to the face was going to wake him. They knew that for certain. Jason and Dick had _experimented_.

Once Tim was free, Bruce lifted his almost rag-doll form and handed him over to Alfred. Tim was small for his age, looking closer to four than his actual age of six, so Alfred had no problems balancing the boy in his arms. Unlike the others who would have wrapped their arms around his neck, Tim's hung uselessly at his side which caused Alfred to have hold Tim more like an infant than older child. Alfred, of course, didn't seem to mind.

Dick was getting up from the couch and taking Damian with him when Bruce turned to Jason. Unlike Tim, Jason was a rather light sleeper and halfway woke up when Bruce touched his arm.

"B?" He blinked before closing his eyes and settling his head back into its original position. Muttering into the pillow, he said, "We saw you kick that clown's ass."

Bruce could practically feel Alfred's disapproving frown at his language, but Jason was too far gone to notice. Nor did he notice the slight smile that was finally pulling at the edge of Bruce's lips.

"Come on, Jay," he said as he picked Jason up.

"Don't have to carry me. I'm not a baby," Jason mumbled. However, his head barely landed on Bruce's shoulder when the slow and steady, soft puffs of air against his neck told Bruce that Jason was already asleep again.

Dick had already disappeared by the time he and Alfred were ready to take the other two up. The man Vicki was interviewing was in the middle of some sort of animate discussion with the less-than-impressed reporter when Bruce turned off the television, and then followed Alfred upstairs. Dick was no where to be found, but his door was shut. With any luck he and Damian were already back in their beds, but Bruce would make sure after he was done with Jason and Tim.

Alfred disappeared next door to Tim's room just as Bruce entered Jason's. For a boy as young as he was, it was surprisingly neat. Rows of toy cars were lined up on a few of the lower shelves of the room's built in, and the baskets that were meant to hold his larger toys were full and in their proper place. Aside from the book he had left on his bed, all his other books were put away on the higher shelves. No clothes were left scattered about, and his sneakers were placed side-by-side and tucked neatly under his bed. If was almost as if Alfred had just finished cleaning in here, which was impossible since he had been assisting Bruce all evening in the cave.

A worried knot pulled at him as he picked up the book and placed it on the nightstand. Some people were just naturally cleanly, and he hoped that Jason was one of them. He was still learning him just like the others, after all. However, everything that he remembered from "before" didn't really suggest that Jason should be like this. Bruce just hoped it was something residual, and not anything worse. He needed to ask Zatanna about it later.

Jason let go easily enough when Bruce laid him in his bed but again, opened his eyes as he did so.

A little more aware than the last time, Jason said, "You're late."

"I know," Bruce said. "Patrol took longer than usual."

"Joker, huh?" Jason grinned. "Good job with that, by the way."

Bruce kept himself from frowning too much. If he had his way, his fights would never be televised. The people he fought were looking for too much recognition as is. They lived for seeing their names in the papers and being discussed on the news almost as much as they did for causing mayhem in general. Bruce usually did a fairly descent job at keeping that from happening, but ever so often someone with a phone would catch more than he would like, like tonight.

He also didn't like the idea of the boys, particularly the younger ones, being exposed to all that messiness just yet either.

Jason, of course, didn't know or care about all that. He just rolled over onto his side, bunched his pillow under his head, and said, "Just be careful, okay. You worried Dickiebird and Timmy."

He was asleep again before Bruce could reply, but he grinned all the same and ran his hand over the top of Jason's head. Worried Dick and Tim, huh? Funny, Dick had implied the same thing about him.

Stepping across the hall, Bruce opened the door to Dick's room and looked inside. Dick had made it as far as laying down on top of bed before passing back out. If it weren't for the fact that he was sleeping on his side, he probably would have been spread across the entire mattress. As it were, though, he had to make room for small child that was curled up as close as humanly possible to his chest.

Well, he had said for Dick to put Damian to bed. He would just have to remember to be more specific about which bed. Next time, though. If there was one thing Bruce was certain of it was that if he tried to retrieve Damian now, no one would be happy with the results. It was better just to leave them be and talk to Dick about "intended meanings" of his instruction in the morning.

Closing the door with a soft _click_ , Bruce turned just as Alfred stepped out of Tim's room. Walking over, Bruce asked, "Is he still asleep?"

"I've had coma patients who slept less soundly," Alfred replied as he stepped back to allow him a view into the room.

Tim was tucked in tightly. The covers were pulled all the way up to his chin and pushed in under his arms and torso to hinder most movement. It wasn't really necessary. During Dick and Jason's little "experiment", Bruce once walked in one morning to find Tim laying face flat against the mattress while his were stretched out on either side of him and his butt was up in the air. Dick confessed that they had done it to him the night before just to see if he could stay that way. After that he had to watch them – well, Jason, really – much more closely when Tim stayed with them, and he finally fell asleep. Apparently, points were involved for creativity of position.

Pulling the door closed, Alfred asked, "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No," Bruce said.

Alfred gave a sharp nod and then headed towards his own room. However, before he got too far away, Bruce said, "Alfred."

The silent question hung in the air, which caused Alfred to smile.

"I've already taken the liberty of sending the pictures to your computer."


	2. Two: Flight

Two: Flight

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Tim crouched down to looked between the wooden posts and down into the large main entrance. The marble flooring glowed dully in the dreary afternoon light that stretched out from two large windows on either side of the front door. Tim could remember standing in that entry when he was real small and his parents had brought him here for a party. He remembered thinking that he had never seen a room so big before and wondering how much bigger everything else in the house must be. Now, however, he thought it looked a lot smaller. Especially for what Dick wanted to do.

Jason leaned against the railing next to him and unlike Tim, who was just at the right height so that the handrail of the banister blocked his view, could see just fine over the top. With a snort, he said, "I still say he can't do it."

Tim frowned and looked back between the railing. He knew that Dick could do this. It was the same kind of just knowing that told him that, even when they did come back from whatever dig they had gone to this time, he should still never, ever tell his parents that Bruce was Batman because it would be too dangerous. No one had to tell him. He just knew.

So Tim didn't have any doubt that Dick could do this. He also didn't have any doubt that he shouldn't.

"I can and will," Dick said.

He was taking over-sized steps across the landing and counting exactly how many paces were from the wall to the banister. Like most things in Wayne Manor, the landing that lead into the two wings was overly large, and Dick thought it would be enough room. He did, at least, count it off though. Damian squirmed unhappily in his arms as Dick reached the banister and gave a sharp nod.

"See," he said giving Tim a bright smile. "More than enough room."

"Ten bucks still says that you're going to break something instead," Jason said. "Twenty says that it'll be you."

"Wait and see, Jaybird," Dick said as he handed Damian over.

Jason struggled for a minute to hold onto the toddler, who would much rather be held by his favorite person in the world than one of his least. It was an awkward little shuffling since Jason wasn't that big for an eight-year-old, but Damian was a chubby little kid that would probably be as big as Tim was now by the time he was four. He finally got him settled, though, just as Dick reached the far wall and turned to face them.

Dick smiled brightly. It was the same one that Tim remembered seeing the first time he meet Dick years ago at the circus. He was ready to preform.

Dick bounced on his feet once and then twice before taking off in a sprint. He built up a lot of speed as he reached the banister. Right before he got to it, he did a somersault. He had barely landed in a crouch on it before he dove off the railing towards the chandelier.

Tim jumped up and onto his toes so he could see over the railing just as Dick grabbed onto light fixture and began to swing. There was a groan above them, but Tim was too busy watching as Dick swung as far as the chandelier would go. He let go just as the chandelier began to swing back, and then somersaulted once, twice, three, and finally four times in the air before landing safely on the ground. His back was to them and his arms were in the air like a gymnast that had just pulled off a difficult stunt for a moment for he turned to them with that same big smile.

Tim was smiling as well, and he heard Jason give an impressed shout of approval as he bounced Damian in his arms.

"See," Dick said, "I told you I could –"

An angry pop snapped over their heads which caused all four of them freeze. The chandelier that had still been swinging seemed to hang in the air for a moment just as the top of it tore off the ceiling and then somehow slowly began to fall to the ground. Tim couldn't move as he watched it make its way to the ground. He felt something grab him from behind and pull him away a little bit from the railing. Jason had tried to turn himself and Damian away as much as he could while he moved Tim behind him.

Tim managed to get his arms up before a deafening crash of breaking glass and metal filled the air around them. It seemed to last forever, ringing and echoing throughout every shadowy inch of the house. It felt like the sound rang through him like a clap of thunder from a lightning bolt that struck to close to the house. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was mostly silent again.

Tim lowered his arms just as Jason turned back to see what happened. A few angry hisses and sparks came from above them where the wiring was now exposed. Almost directly below where it once hung, the chandelier laid in a twisted heap of broken metal and shattered crystals and light-bulbs. It had made a hole in the stone flooring and cracks reached out all across the entrance.

"Holy shit," Jason muttered.

Dick was a few feet back from where he had landed and was slowly stranding up from the protective crouch he bent down to. He didn't look hurt but his jaw hung opened like a stunned fish.

That feeling that Tim had before was back and calling him all sorts of mean names for not knowing that this was going to happen.

Before Tim could examine that too closely, the sound of heavy footfalls running reached him. Bruce appeared through one of the side entrances. He was frowning as he paused, looked at the broken chandelier, then around the room, and finally to Dick. Just as he ran over to him, Alfred appeared right were Bruce had been and gave a surprised shout.

"Good Lord!"

"Are you okay?" Bruce demanded as he took hold of Dick and turned him a bit.

 _Checking for injuries_ , something whispered. Tim ignored it.

The twisting must have shaken Dick's head clear because he started to pull against Bruce's grip.

"I'm fine," he said as he tried to work his way free from his grasp.

It didn't work, but Bruce must have thought he was okay enough because he was then looking around the room again. When he spotted them up on the landing, his shoulders dropped a little. He also closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath.

"What happened?" he asked in the same tone as he had used on Dick.

Dick ducked his head a little in a way that reminded Tim of one of those videos where dogs knew they've done something really bad while someone asked them what they did.

Tim, too, crouched down back behind the railing and bit down onto his bottom lip. He knew this was a bad idea.

Damian was trying to escape Jason's grip again and was now pushing at his face like he thought if he was annoying enough that Jason would put him down. Jason twisted his head away from the little hands that were hitting at his cheek and jaw, but held Bruce's gaze and matched his frown.

"Dick did it."

"You bet I couldn't!" Dick snapped back.

"You still did it, dickhead," Jason replied.

As Dick and Jason started to argue back and forth and pinched the bridge of his nose, Tim sat down on the floor and held back a sniffle. He should have listened to that voice in the back of his head and never asked Dick if he could still do a quadruple.


	3. Three: Caged

Three: Caged

The last bit of rare Gotham sunshine was just fading from the sky when Alfred finished putting away the dinner dishes and did one last sweep of the kitchen to be sure that everything was back in proper order. No stray flatware or pot had escaped his notice. The counters and kitchen table were freshly scrubbed as were the floors. The sink was cleaned. The chairs and stools were safely tucked away so no one would accidentally bump into them. Everything, in short, was prefect. All before Master Bruce had left for the evening.

How odd.

Six months ago it would not have been so. Alfred rather prided himself on running a tight ship, and a clean kitchen was obviously something of importance to that. However, since rather auspicious and memorable arrival of the four young masters into the Wayne home, the need for flexibility on his part had become paramount; and while it had not been completely done away, his routine had changed rather significantly. The kitchen was cleaned after every meal, but it just usually was not completed so soon and without interruptions.

That was life with four young children, particularly when three of them were under the age of ten: interruptions, arguing, fights, and games. With the case of these young boys, broken antique chandeliers and thousands of dollars worth of damages to the foyer should also be expected.

As he retrieved a serving and the milk from the refrigerator, Alfred wondered if the others had gone through the same thing or if the children were this destructively simply because they were all together. He also wondered about what the future held for the furniture and all around structure of the Manor if this was the type of destruction that was to become commonplace in their lives. Perhaps they should move some of the more valuable pieces to the attic until the boys are older. Or point them in the direction of things that they wouldn't mind being rid of. There was a particularly _Bureau du Roi_ in one of the upstairs drawing rooms he wouldn't mind never having to dust again.

The fantasy of the destruction of a Louis XV roll-top secretary still playing in his mind, Alfred made his way to one of the downstairs studies with the serving set. He slipped into the room silently enough to make Batman jealous to not disturbed its single occupant. Like most rooms in the Manor there were no overhead lights, so a few lamps had been turned at some point in the past hour. The low wattage, however, didn't provide the best lighting, so Alfred was glad that Master Dick had chosen to sit at the desk and turn on the old fashion desktop lamp.

He was rapidly tapping his pencil against the top of a book as a frustrated frown pulled at the edges of his lips. For the amount of time it took Alfred to set the serving tray down and pick up the glass of milk and plate of cookies he had brought for him, the boy had not come close to writing a single word on the sheet of paper before him. Alfred wasn't sure if he was just deep in thought or hoping that perhaps the words would magically appear on the paper if he just stared at it long enough, but the half-written was remaining unfinished all the same.

If Master Dick was surprised by Alfred's sudden presences, he didn't show. He just looked up at him with what Leslie use to call a "hound dog expression" as Alfred replaced the old glass of milk with the fresh one and laid the plate of cookies next to it.

"I'm never going to finish this, Alf," he said.

"Yes, Master Dick, you will," Alfred replied.

"No, I won't," he said as he flopped back in his chair. "I'm going to be thirty and still sitting in here, trying to get this stupid thing right because Bruce wants it to be 'perfect.'"

The tips of Alfred's lips twitched, but he managed to keep the smile from blooming on his face.

"I'm sure your are exaggerating, sir," he said.

"Really?"

With a small pout Dick vaguely waved at the two other versions that Master Bruce had rejected earlier. The first was covered with grammatical corrections and notes in the margins about the content. The second was less so but with still enough that it was obvious that it needed to be redone. From what little Alfred had read of what was written, the third version wasn't going to be up to snuff either.

With a groan, Master Dick muttered to the ceiling, "This is awful."

"I'm afraid that is quite the point, Master Dick," Alfred said.

The boy groaned again and covered his face with this hands only to drag them down slowly. While he wasn't looking, Alfred smiled and then patted him on the shoulder. Dick returned a weak, lopsided grin and turned back to his essay on why using a chandelier as a trapeze is a dangerous and foolish thing to do.

Just as Alfred began to leave, he paused at the door and said, "If I might make some suggestions, Master Dick. Never begin a sentence with an "and", "or", or "but". Don't use a comma in front of a "because". Also, Master Bruce will never accept "it was a bet" as an acceptable argument for what you did."

The boy's eyes widen as he took in Alfred's advice. He then grabbed a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

"Thanks, Alfie."

Though he wasn't looking at him any longer, Alfred gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen with the serving tray and dirty glass. After cleaning and putting them away, he then headed up to check on the other two jailbirds. He barely stepped into the hall that housed all the boys' rooms when he heard frustrated growl that could only belong to Master Jason.

"Hurry up, Tim!"

By passing Master Jason's room, Alfred opened the door to Master Timothy's instead. Master Jason was standing just inside the doorway to the room's en suite with his arms crossed and practically baring his teeth. Master Timothy was in the tub sitting in the middle of mountain of bubbled and frowning back at Jason.

"'Cleanliness is next to godliness,'" the young boy quoted primly. It was something that Alfred had often said to him when it came to the child's bath time and, Alfred suspected, something Timothy's mother often said to him as well. However, the fact that Tim was not actually making any attempt at bathing so much as just sitting there was not helping his case.

"You're going to be next to god soon if you don't hurry up," Master Jason threatened.

"Master Jason," Alfred said sternly.

The boy had the good grace to at least look sheepish but didn't apologies. Instead, he turned his head towards Alfred and overly exaggerated mouthing the words "help me."

"I'm afraid preparing Master Timothy for bed is your responsibility tonight," Alfred replied.

Jason's head fell back and groaned up to the heavens. It was very similar to Master Dick's own groan.

Master Timothy had gone back to splashing in the water, though the bar of soap was yet to be touched. Judging by Alfred own experience, the boy would not want to emerge from the tub for a minimum of another twenty minutes, even though he would still need a good scrubbing. Luckily for Master Jason, waiting that long would not be possible for tonight.

"I will remind you, Master Timothy, that you are to be in bed an hour earlier tonight."

Desperate hope blossomed on Master Jason's face just as Master Timothy's fell. Had it been one of the other boys, there would have been arguments about how they were not tired or that going to bed an hour early was a stupid punishment, but Master Timothy just sank a little further into the tub.

"Okay, Alfred," he said as he took the washcloth and soap and actually began to clean himself.

"Thank you," Master Jason said.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Don't forget he still has to put on his pajamas and brush his teeth."

"And a story," Master Timothy added.

Alfred nodded his head. "And a story."

"Oh, come on," Master Jason groaned again.

As he left the room, Alfred heard Master Timothy going through a list of potential bedtime stories, each longer than the last. Along with the title, he felt the need to remind Master Jason the content of said story and the pros and cons of why choosing that book. Alfred was rather worried that Master Jason was going to strain his vocal cords with how much and how loudly he was groaning.

Alfred found Master Bruce reading over some files in his own personal study. The windows were black now that night had finally settled, and reflected back some of the light from the various lamps.

Young Master Damian dozed on the couch near Master Bruce's chair. He was fighting to keep his eyes opened, but they barely stayed raised for a moment or two before dropping closed once more. Alfred went and picked the child up. He fussed a bit at first before curled into Alfred's warmth and closed his eyes probably for the last time that evening.

"How are the boys?" Master Bruce asked.

"Master Timothy is already scrubbing and should be in bed within the hour, just as you instructed," Alfred reported.

Master Bruce gave a nod of approval.

He continued, "Master Jason is currently trying to convince Master Timothy he is not a fish and is probably going to give himself a bout of laryngitis if he doesn't refrain from groaning so much."

Master Bruce's lips twitched. "At least he's not plotting his revenge just yet."

"No, he'll probably begin doing that come morning," Alfred replied with his own smile. "Master Dick is still working away on his essay, though I would not hold out much hope for this version any more than the others. He seems rather found of commas and the idea that an essay can be one giant sentence. Much like another unruly twelve-year-old I once knew."

"He'll learn," Master Bruce replied. "I did."

"True, but not all in one night," Alfred said.

Master Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Alfred could practically hear him remembering the time that he himself had to rewrite his essay on why he should talk to a teach instead of knocking out another boy who was bully another child. It was hardly Alfred's fault that Master Bruce had stubbornly refused to acknowledge any other avenue than the one he had chosen. It most certainly was not his fault that he did so in seven essays no matter what Alfred instructed. On the plus side, though, Master Bruce had become quite apt at essay writing and could so faster than most of his classmates.

Master Dick seemed to be well on his way to that particular talent as well, and Alfred had no doubt that Master Jason would be following in a few years. Actually, knowing Master Jason, he would probably be able to write an entire Master's Thesis in week by the time he reached adulthood.

Still, this was the first time Master Dick had to do such a thing, and Master Bruce nodded in acknowledgment of that.

"I'll keep that in mind when he brings it up," Master Bruce said.

Alfred nodded in response. "All in all, sir, I'd say you have three very unhappy little boys, which I would say is a rousing success in terms of first major punishment."

Standing up from his chair, Master Bruce put the folder he had been reading on top of the pile he left on his desk and said, "We'll see."

With one last nod, Alfred turned to take young Master Damian to bed when Master Bruce asked, "Alfred, do you always feel this...?"

Lousy? Awful? Utter afraid that they'll hate you forever?

Alfred smiled softly.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

AN: Someone asked for one where the boys are punished. After the last chapter, this seemed like a good place to do one. Also, Dick's punishment is based off how a friend of mine use to be punished as a kid.


	4. Four: Chirp

Four: Chirp

"We've got a problem, B."

Lowering his newspaper a bit, Bruce looked up from an article about the opening of an exhibition of Egyptian antiquities that focused primarily on the goddess Bast (he made a mental note to be sure to attend since he knew it would be too good of an opportunity for cat-lover to pass up) and saw Dick hurrying into the kitchen. He was frowning as he adjusted his hold on a squirming Damian, who was pushing at his arms for Dick to release him. Dick was ignoring him, apparently favoring speed over Damian's wishes to toddle to breakfast on his own. Not that Dick usually did let the child do so. He loved to carry him more than just about anything.

"Gway, down," Damian demanded but to no avail.

Jason glanced up from his cereal as Alfred placed a fresh glass of orange in front of Tim. Tim carefully wrapped both hands around the glass and began to drink while they waited for Dick to continue.

"What is it, Dick?"

"Damian's learned a new word," he replied as he shifted him around to keep a hold of him.

Bruce turned a frown to Jason just as Alfred's eyes narrowed on the boy as well. His spoon clattered loudly against the table as he sat up straighter and looked between Alfred and himself.

"I didn't do anything," Jason snapped.

Rolling his eyes, Dick said, "Not that kind of word."

Jason sank down into his chair and glared at his cereal bowl. "Told you."

Ignoring him, Dick said, "Watch."

He turned Damian around so that he could see everyone in the room. Bruce knew what Dick was about to do before he even began. It was a favorite game of his to help Damian learn how to speak and what things were called. Alfred had been the one to suggest it after they realized the Talia, or at least the women she left him in the care of, hadn't bothered to teach him any English just yet. As young as Damian was, changing his primary language to English wasn't much of a challenge, since he had only begun to speak a few months prior to his coming to live in Gotham.

"Damian," Dick said before pointing to himself, "who am I?"

"Gway," Damian replied before glaring at him. "Down."

"In a minute," Dick said. He then pointed over to Jason who was now rather bored by the whole thing since whatever word Damian had learned didn't come from him. "And that's?"

"Todd."

Jason's last name was one of the few words that Damian could say clearly and correctly, which was a source of pride for Jason for awhile and misery from Dick. However, two-syllable words were still beyond Damian right now, and he refused to call anyone but by their last name.

It was something else that Bruce needed to ask Zatanna about.

Dick slid his finger over to Tim. "And who's that?"

Damian's eyes narrowed a little. "Dwake."

Tim frowned back in return and asked, "Why does he only call us by our last names?"

Jason shrugged. "Because he's the demon spawn."

"Jason," Bruce said.

"What?"

Ignoring them, Dick turned towards Alfred and asked, "And that's?"

"Enny."

Finally, Dick pointed towards him. Bruce held in a sigh as he prepared for Damian to call him "B" yet again. All of them had tried on several times to get Damian to refer to him by "Dad" or "Daddy" or even "Dada", but he would have none of it. Much like the boys being referred to by their last names, he had become use to it.

This time, however, Dick gave Bruce a look before asking, "And who's that?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Come on. You know he's just going to say – "

"Batman."

Silence fell over the table as all them stared at Damian, who had gone back to trying to get out Dick's arms.

Dick was right. This was a problem.

"Huh, first big word," Jason said. "That one going in your scrapbook, Grayson?"

AN: Just a silly little thing. Wanted to tell you guys I'm taking prompts for this. If anyone is interested, just let me know.


	5. Five: Ruffled

A damp coolness had settled in with the first traces of fog as Alfred finished his track to the end of the drive to the entrance gates. The sun just finished setting and already those wisps were treadling out of the shadows with a promise that everything would soon be blanketed in whiteness. He hoped not terribly so, of course. It would be ashamed for the evening to be ruined because some higher power loved irony.

The gate clicked opened easily. There was no squeak of metal like so many people would expect or hope for. It just swung open to allow him outside and access to the little corner that had already been prepared earlier that day. There was a small table in front of the large, brick wall that the gate was attached too. Little decorative kick-knacks were spread about it: plastic spiders and cottony webs, an unlit candle, a carved pumpkin with obviously fake skeletal hand (which someone had colored the tips a garishly bright red in either amateurish attempt to appear scary or jokingly appear as if the nails were painted – it really depended on which one of _them_ had managed to do it without his knowledge) resting in front of it. Ignoring all of it, Alfred walked to the end of the table and next to the cauldron that bubbled with dry ice placed a large bowl of candy. He turned it in such a way that the cartoon witch that was flying in front of a full moon could be seen and took a step back. A note that politely asked that any trick-or-treaters that came by to please only take one piece. It was just good planning that the security camera mounted on the gate could be easily be seen pointed in on that exact spot. With a sharp nod of approval, Alfred headed back up to the manor.

A found grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he was greeted by four pumpkins. Even with all the lights on, they still glowed brightly from within to show off the various, and mostly awful, attempts at faces. Aside from the perfectly executed traditional face of Master Timothy's (which Alfred himself may or may not have helped with), the others appeared to be failed attempts different versions of the same face. Alfred wish he could say that Master Dick's Picasso-esque pumpkin face was the worst, since the boy had insisted on doing it completely on his own. However, the one Master Bruce did for Master Damian had somehow turned into a bigger mess. How that was even possible was rather a mystery, but there was just something all together unsettling about it. Perhaps it is was the overly large one eye and close set second.

More likely it was the uni-brow.

It had been some years since Halloween was celebrated at the manor in sort of real fashion. There were, on occasions, Halloween parties held here, but that mostly coincided with a time period of Master Bruce having to remind everyone that he was just 'a billionaire playboy' because one of Batman's missions had taken longer than it should which made it impossible for him to show his face in the right social circles for awhile. Those parties, which were usually more extravagant than usual to give a reason to his absence, were few and far between, however. Mostly, Halloween was ignored in the Wayne household in favor of other, regular nighttime activities.

This year was different, though.

Alfred hoped that it would continue to be from now on.

Stepping inside, Alfred glanced up at the chandelier that had recently been replaced and noted that it was, thankfully, still firmly attached to fixed ceiling. He doubted that that sort of shenanigans would be repeated any time in the near future. However, he had had the contractors secure the thing with everything that they had. Just in case.

He had just turned his attention to inspecting the refinished floors for stray dirt when Master Bruce emerged from the side entrance. Well, he should actually say Batman emerged. Had it been any other time, Alfred would be raising an disapproving eyebrow, but he knew that it was coming. After all, it was a costume party they were heading to, and what better way to get ahead of Master Damian than to give a reason for his father's new moniker.

The cowl was pulled back, and Master Bruce tugged at the gauntlet that didn't fit just right. In fact, nothing about the costume did, and it barely resembled the real thing that was still safely locked away downstairs. Whoever had designed the knockoff version had done a fairly descent job overall, but it clearly lacked key aspect of the real thing. After all, what Halloween costume really needed Kevlar? However, it clearly made Master Bruce uncomfortable, which really went even further in selling the idea actually.

Maybe he should had gone as himself years ago.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

"Fine, Alfred," he replied as he shifted the cape to try and make it fall correctly. Of course, it didn't. Frowning, he decided to ignore it for the moment and asked, "Are the boys ready?"

"They were just finishing up when I left them a little while ago," Alfred replied.

Master Bruce gave a nod just a droll voice came from above. " _Batman_? Really, B?"

Master Jason was leaning against the top banister with one hand on his cheek. He smirked down at them before pushing off and casually clomping heavily down the stairs. The heavy, black boots echoed loudly in the large space as he jumped off from the last two stairs and landed hard on the new floor. Normally, Master Bruce would scold him for making so much noise when he should always be practicing stealth, but Master Jason had done it solely for getting a rise out him so he instead chose to ignore it.

With his hands behind his back, Master Jason rocked back onto his heels as Master Bruce said, "Damian."

"Oh," Master Jason replied with a dragged out sound. That smirk reappeared. "Sneaky."

"Good timing, actually," Master Bruce said.

He glanced over Master Jason's costume and frowned pointed at the empty holster that was strapped to his side. No toy guys were allowed in the house, but as Master Jason had pointed out when he picked out the costume, Master Bruce hadn't said anything about holsters. He clearly still didn't approve, though, and Alfred was sure that that rule would be amended by morning.

"Where are the others, Captain Solo?"

Master Jason smiled for real this time. "Wow, you actually know who I am. Me and Dick were betting on that."

"Jason."

"I'm here," Master Timothy said as he came running down the stairs. His shorter legs made it a harder go for him than it had Master Jason, so he had to cling to the banister in his rush. However, even that proved for naught as he tripped on the last step. Alfred took a step forward but was too far away to actually do anything to stop it. Thankfully, Master Bruce's reflexes were as keen as they were, and he easily plucked the boy out of mid-fall.

"Careful," Master Bruce said as he set the boy down on solid ground.

Adjusting his fake horn-rime glasses, Master Timothy said, "Thank you."

"Can you actually see out of those things?" Master Jason asked.

"They're not real," Master Timothy replied as he brushed some imaginary dust from school uniform. Reaching up, he pinched his fingers between the area where the glass should be and said, "See."

Rolling his eyes, Master Jason opened his mouth to reply, but Master Bruce asked instead, "Where's your wand, Tim?"

Behind the glasses, Master Timothy's eyes grew wide. "You know who I am?"

Had it been anyone else, Alfred was sure that they would be staring at the boys were pure incredulity. Master Bruce, however, just leveled a look at them.

"You really think that I'm _that_ out of touch?" he asked.

"Yes," they both answered in mirroring innocent and completely confident tones.

Years of training in both the theater and dealing with a vigilante who could read easily read people made it possible for him to keep a smile off his face. However, judging by the frown on Master Bruce's face, he still knew how amused he actually was.

Turning to face up the staircase, Master Jason yelled, "Hey, Dickiebird! He knows who we are!"

Master Bruce's frowned deepened, as Alfred said, "Master Jason, there is no need to yell."

The boy might have been felt the bite of reprimand a bit more had Master Dick not appeared at the top of the stairs at that moment with the same shocked looked that Master Timothy had worn not five minutes before.

"Really?"

A large smile covered his face as he jumped up and stood on the banister. Alfred sucked in a breathe as the boy balanced himself there with ease and put both fist on his hips as he puff out his green clad chest. The little matching hat with the feather in it clung tightly to head as he cheekily grinned down at them.

"Then you got to know who I am."

"Dick, get down from there," Master Bruce ordered sharply.

Rolling his eyes, Master Dick crouch a little before back flipping off the banister and back onto the solid ground of the second floor landing. Alfred hadn't realized he had even been holding his breath until it all rushed out at once. That boy needed a healthier fear of heights.

As soon as his feet hit the floor, something to the side caught Master Dick's attention. A truly fond smile spread over his face as he reached down and said, "Come on, Dami."

A sharp and angry "No" came in reply.

It was hard to tell exactly what Master Dick did but for several seconds the sounds of a brief struggle echoed down to them as the toddler repeated denied Master Dick's request that he come to him. Alfred can't say he was surprised, really. Master Damian had obviously not cared for the costume that Master Dick had chosen for him, and Alfred had left it to him to struggle to get it on him. Apparently, he had been successful, much to Master Damian's displeasure.

After several more moments passed by, Alfred thought that he would have to go retrieve the child himself, but Master Dick finally managed pick the boy up and bring him down the stairs. Master Damian struggled the entire time, pushing and kicking until Master Dick nearly dropped him at the bottom of the stairs. Not wanting to chance it, he did put him down, and the child went straight to his father, who promptly picked him up with no problems.

"Batman," Master Damian said. "Gway bad."

In all his years, Alfred had never seen toddler scowl the way that Master Damian did as he stared up to Master Bruce. Perhaps, in years to come, that scowl will be able to strike fear into those around him. On someone as young as Master Damian, however, it was just adorable. Especially one dressed as a fat red bird. Even Master Bruce seemed to be having a hard time keeping an amused smile off his face.

"Oh my god, Grayson," Master Jason said. "You made him an Angry Bird?"

"No," Master Dick said. "He's suppose to be a robin."

Master Bruce looked up sharply at Master Dick, but the boy just stared back with a smile that was too innocent to any such thing. Alfred frowned at the pair, unsure exactly what was going on, but remained quite.

Master Jason, however, snorted. "He looks like he wants murder you in your sleep."

His eyes lit up as the smirk from earlier returned, and he ran back up the stairs.

"Let me get a camera."

AN: Yeah, I just wanted to do something cute for Halloween. Sorry if turned out really badly. For anyone who didn't catch it: Dick is Peter Pan, Jason is Han Solo, Tim is Harry Potter, and Damian is a robin/Angry Bird.


	6. Six: Loon

"Aw, Puddin', they're so cute!" Harley squealed as she eyed the three boys.

Jason glared up at her with the most ferocious frown a eight-year-old can manage while making sure that Tim is safely tucked behind him. Tim had a tight grip on the back of his shirt. Jason knew Tim wasn't a coward, but the Joker and Harley Quinn were what Dick liked the call Top Tier Batman villains. Worst of the worst and all that. There were a lot of adults who were terrified of these two, so Jason wasn't going to fault a six-year-old suburban kid for being so too. Hell, if Jason were honest, he was scared of them, but he was never, ever going to admit that.

The only one who wasn't disturbed by the whole thing was Damian. He just sat at Jason's feet and glared up at the crazy lady and her demented clown boyfriend. Jason couldn't understand how a toddler could look completely _unimpressed_ by a supervillain, so he just chalked it up to Damian being B's kid.

Speaking of B, he was probably going absolutely nuts right about now. Well, as nuts as someone like B could go, anyway. Jason didn't know a whole lot of what went on in the batcave since he and Tim and Damian were pretty much banned from the place (something about weapons and chemicals and big freaking holes in the ground not being "safe for young children, Master Bruce"). The few times that he was actually allowed down there, Jason had seen Bruce frowning at the computer a lot. Jason imagined that he was doing a lot of that. Well, that, or doing actual Batman stuff that Jason hoped, hoped, _hoped_ would get Bruce here fast.

Leaning forward to place herself at eye level with Jason, Harley tilted her head to the side like a bird who had spotted its reflection in a mirror. There was something vacant in those eyes that made Jason shudder and pull Tim a little further behind him. If he could scoot Damian behind him using his feet, he would, but the little brat would probably just bite him if he tried. It wouldn't be the first time.

The smile slipped from Harley's face as she turned back to the Joker. "But I thought Wayne had four of 'em."

"Yes, well, apparently the oldest one gave old Chuckie here the slip," the Joker said as he kicked at the foot of his now dead henchmen. "Really, you just can't intimidate good help these days."

Tim whimpered softly behind Jason and buried part of his face into the back of his shirt. It was probably the first time Tim had ever seen a real dead body, and it was fresh. The blood on the floor was still red and wet, and Jason felt a little sick himself just looking at it. He was just glad that the Joker hadn't killed the guy before Harley had brought them to him. Watching that would have been...bad.

With a shrug, Joker said, "Still, three out of four isn't bad, I suppose."

"Especially when they're each worth a couple of million," one of the henchmen added.

A frown pulled at the corners of Jason's lips. Who would pay a couple of million for him?

Tim he could see. He was rich kid even before Bruce decided to take him in while the Drakes were gone. Someday, Tim was going to running his parents business, so yeah, he was definitely worth a couple of million easy.

Damian, too. He was Bruce's son, his _real_ son – not a stray like him. Millions didn't cover how much this kid was worth.

But Jason? Bruce liked him, sure. Gave a place to live after his mom died and everything, but Jason was sure that he didn't like him _that_ much.

Didn't matter anyway. Batman would find them just like he always did when stuff like this happened. He'd take them home and probably not let them out for the next decade or so, but they'd be fine. They just had to hold tight until then.

"Yeah," Harley agreed before she bit down onto her lip. "But...I've been thinking. What if we keep one. They're so cute, and Wayne's got four. It's not like he'd miss just one."

Something hard and angry flashed through the Joker's face as he turned a tight, mean smile towards Harley. For a minute, Jason thought for sure that he was going to hit. By the way her smile flinched and was waving her hands in the air in front of her like she was just kidding, she must have thought so, too. However, that anger was gone just a quick as it came on.

"You know, Harl, you might be onto something," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"Well, we're not getting any younger," he said, "and it seems all our friends are starting families, too. Why, just the other day, I heard that Bats has been seen running around with a little batbrat of his own in the past few months."

Jason didn't try to keep the frown off his face. He knew that Bruce was training Dick, but he didn't think that he'd taken him out except for that one time that Jason knew about. How had the Joker heard about that?

Not paying attention to Jason, Joker leaned down towards Damian and said, "Maybe it's time we start thinking about making a little Joker Junior of our own so Bat's kid will have someone to play with."

Jason started to go for the kid when the Joker reached out to Damian like he was about to scratch under his chin like Damian was some sort of cat. However, when he was just inches away, Damian snapped at him. The Joker was just able to save his finger and cradled it close to his chest as if Damian had actually managed to get him.

"Not the baby, though," Joker said as he glared down at him. "I don't think its had its shots."

Harley squeal, again, and turned back to Jason and Tim.

"Oh, who wants to help Mamma punish baby?" she asked as she leaned in close to Jason.

"Lady, you're batshit insane," Jason replied.

"Oooh," the Joker giggled. "I like this one. He's got moxie."

Pushing Harley out of the way, he leaned in close to Jason and looked him over. Jason glared back at him. Whatever the Joker saw, he must have liked because he grinned back at him.

"Ooo, defiant, aren't we," he laughed. "I really like that. But, if you're going to be in this family, young man, you're going to have to learn your lesson just like I learned from my own dearly departed mother."

Before Jason could react, the Joker grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. Jason struggled in his grasp but was trying not to do it too much since Damian was still somewhat awkwardly set between them. He could feel the kid moving out of the way as Jason tried to keep his balance now that the Joker had pulled him up to where he was almost standing on his tiptoes.

From behind him, Jason heard Tim give a little cry, but Harley must have grabbed him because he didn't try to pull Jason back.

The Joker's voice dropped a few octaves as his smile turned sinister, and he said, "Never sass your mother."

Jason's eyes widened. Tim was yelling now, but Jason could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing through his ears as he stared at the Joker as he chuckled darkly. He struggled but knew it wouldn't do him any good. Whatever was about to happen, it was going to be bad.

An iron grip locked onto Jason's arm when something began to _hiss_ at their feet. A thick cloud of smoke quickly filled the air in seconds, but not before Jason saw mad delight fill the Joker's eyes. Just as the smoke started to choke him, the Joker turned Jason around so that his back was against his front. One hand was still firmly held Jason's arm, but the other one was now wrapped around his throat. The pressure it caused was uncomfortable, and he tried to break free from the grip; but the Joker wasn't about to let him go.

Things were moving in the smoke. It wasn't near clear enough for him to see exactly what it was, but it also wasn't silent enough that he couldn't follow what was happening. He could hear the flapping of a cap, and a fist connecting with a jaw, and the surprised cries of henchmen not knowing what hit them before they were out. Harley's shirk was the loudest and closest, which caused the Joker to lift Jason and pin him completely against his chest with one arm.

"Let go!" Jason demanded as he kicked about uselessly.

The Jokers fingers tightened threateningly under Jason's jaw. "Hold still now, junior."

"Let him go, Joker."

A giggled echoed in Jason's ear, but he hardly heard it. He was too busy trying to see any sign of Batman, but the smoke was still too thick. Tim and Damian were lost somewhere in there, but Jason didn't doubt that B had already gotten them somewhere safe. Jason didn't know why, but he didn't think Bruce would risk coming after him and Joker unless he knew the other two were safe first.

"Oh, I don't think so, Batsy," he replied. "You see, Junior and I were just getting to know one another and –"

"Now, Joker," Batman ordered darkly.

"But where would be the fun in that?" Joker asked. Jason could hear the smile as he added, "Besides, the boy still needs to learn his lesson."

Things happened fast after that. So fast that, even if it wasn't all fuzzy, Jason wouldn't really remember what happened. What he did remember was the Joker laughing before something hit him from the opposite side where Bruce had been yelling at them from. His grip was still tight on Jason, but he managed to fall somewhat away from him. He remembered twisting and pulling and then a horrible snap followed by a sharp pain racing up his arm.

"Ooo, that sounded like the radius," the Joker laughed. "Care to go for the matching ulna, too?"

There was more laughing. Jason remembered seeing a flash of cape, and the Joker throwing him haphazardly to the side. He should have been safe then, since getting away from a psychopathic killer was always a good place to be. It should have been a lucky break.

But Jason's luck always sucked.

His head collided with a low lying bar, and it felt like the entire world had been knocked out from under him. It didn't help that when he hit the floor, the back of his head bounced off the floor with a loud _thud_.

Everything was going dark fast then. He remembered wondering why but not really caring.

A figure appeared over him just before he completely lost consciousness. Dick was staring down at him in that stupid costume, and even though Jason could see his eyes, he knew that they had to be wide behind the mask. The idiot was yelling something, but Jason couldn't hear him.

"You're a bad shot," Jason slurred before closing his eyes because he was really, really tired.

He didn't remember anything after that.

AN: Sorry this took so long. This is the first time I've written the Joker, so I hope it turned out okay.


	7. Seven: Turkey

" _What_ happened _here, Baby?"_

" _Nothin', Daddy."_

Canned laughter filled the air as the flour-covered little girl on the television gave her exasperated father a doe-eyed pout while he took in the utter destruction of his kitchen. It went on for a long time, like it was the greatest gag that comedy had ever produced, and that the show was just waiting for the fake audience to get a hold of itself so that they could continue on with their silly Thanksgiving plot. There was nothing actually funny about it – not that he could see anyway. Unless a little kid being a total brat and learning a valuable lesson in thirty minutes or less was some kind of joke that he just didn't get.

When the dad picked up what was left of the turkey out of the dishwater followed by even harder laughter, Dick had had enough. Groaning, he threw his arm over his eyes and said, "Do we really have to watch this?"

In response, the laughter just got louder as the volume on the television went up.

Dick lifted his head from where he was laying flat on his back and frowned down at the other end of the couch at Jason. He was laying on his side and staring pointedly at the TV, while using his good arm to tuck the remote close to his front. It was hard to tell from where he was sitting, but Dick didn't have a doubt that he was grinning.

Normally, Dick would take the opportunity to kick Jason, especially since his feet were already tucked right under Jason's legs; but Jason was still getting over a severe concussion – which was Dick's fault – and broken arm – definitely Dick's fault, again – so he didn't bother this time. Which, of course, Jason knew, so he was determined to be as annoying as possible.

Sighing, Dick laid back and stared back up at the ceiling.

The past week had sucked. Big time. It's probably been one of the worse since he came here. First, Joker breaks out of Arkham, which meant Bruce was working doubletime on Batman stuff. If it wasn't Dick's training time down in the cave, he probably wouldn't have seen him at all this week. That was bad enough, but then the Joker had gone after the four while they were at school. (Well, he, Jason, and Tim were at school. They took Damian from the doctor's office when Alfred took him in for a schedule checkup.) Thanks to his training, Dick had managed to get away. Jason, Tim, and Damian hadn't been so lucky.

B got scary then. Dick knew he could be. Remembered when he was, in a distant sort of way. It was bad enough that Bruce had let him suit up and _help_. After how it went down, Dick didn't doubt that that wouldn't be happening again. Dick wouldn't blame him. That was a massive screw up, after all.

And Jason paid the price.

To top it all off, it was Thanksgiving. They were supposed to get up early enough to watch the parade on TV before playing football out on the south lawn. They should be waiting for a huge dinner that Alfred spent all day cooking. None of that happened, though, because Jason was just released from the hospital that morning. Dinner was going to have to wait until another day.

On top of that, Bruce had been called away that morning for some JL stuff. They hadn't even seen him that day, not even when Jason came home. It must have been big for him to miss that.

So, yeah, this week sucked. As did this Thanksgiving.

Tim was sitting on the floor with Damian in his lap in front of the coffee table. There was no fighting or scampering to get away from one another. Damian just sat there and let Tim draw his small hand on construction paper to make turkeys. Damian letting him do that without a fuss was just...freaky. When Tim finished the hand drawing, he gave Damian another crayon and let him start to color before glancing back at Dick. He smiled back at him and ruffled his hair.

This had been hard on Tim. Ever since the Joker, Tim had keep a sharp eye on him and Damian. More so than even Bruce. If he or Damian weren't in the same room as him, Dick noticed that Tim got a lot more antsy, like he thought that they were disappear if he couldn't see him. He's been worse today since Jason got back. Dick wouldn't surprised if Tim camped out in his room tonight.

Another loud round of canned laughter echoed through room.

God, Dick hated this show.

"Could you please turn that down?"

Leaning his head all the way back, Dick watched as Bruce walked in. He'd already showered and changed, and looked a little worse for wear but otherwise okay. Carefully, Tim took Damian off his lap and onto the floor before hurrying over to Bruce, who easily picked him up.

"Hey, Bruce," Dick said, rolling over so he could sit up straight. "Everything okay with the world, then?"

"We handled it."

Dick nodded. That was the most response that he was going to get. Unless Bruce thought it was something he should know, he usually didn't share; especially with the others sitting right there.

Maybe he could try out his hacking abilities that Bruce wanted him to develop.

Reaching down, Dick picked up Damian before scooting over to make room for Bruce. Jason sat up slower and moved over a bit as Bruce sat down between them.

"Hey, boss," Jason said as he slid in close to Bruce's side. He was careful not to jar his arm before leaning his head against his shoulder. "Kick some ass?"

Bruce just smiled in response. Well, kind of smile. 'Bruce' smile, which was basically an upturn of the lips.

Running his hand over Jason's hair and careful to avoid the stitches on his forehead, Bruce asked, "How are you feeling, Jay-lad?"

Jason gave a one shoulder shrug. The fact that he wasn't posturing told Dick how bad Jason still felt. Bruce's quick glance to Dick over Tim's head said that he thought very much the same thing.

Another round of loud laughter drew their attention back to the television, where the annoying little girl was currently trying to mash a whole bag of uncooked potatoes with a wooden spoon.

"What is this?" Bruce asked.

" _Baby Doll_ ," Dick said. "It's..."

Stupid. Idiotic. Mind numbingly bad?

"Dumb," Damian said grumpily.

Dick pressed his lips. Well, he didn't say it.

"It's pretty bad," Tim agreed, though he did try to sound a bit more diplomatic about it.

"Dumb," Damian repeated.

"Then why are you watching it?" Bruce asked.

"Because all the football teams that are playing today suck so it was this or hour three of the after-parade coverage," Jason supplied. "Can't you guys try to make the news next time? At least give us something more interesting to watch."

"We're not going to cause an international incident just so you don't have to watch old reruns, Jason," Bruce said.

It was about that time when the final applause sounded and a fast pace credits started to fly by. As it did so, the credits squeezed to one side of the screen the channel began to play a montage of show. Judging by the amount of footage, it must have gone on for quiet awhile. How was mystery to Dick.

" _Can't get enough of our adorable little Baby? Stay tune because you are in the middle of our_ Baby Doll _Thanksgiving Day marathon._ "

As the opening credits high-pitched and annoying theme song began to play, Dick asked, "You sure about that, B?"

AN: Just a short thing for Thanksgiving. I know it's a couple of days late, but I just didn't have a chance before. Hopefully, someone enjoyed.


	8. Eight: Partridge

" _Achoo_!" Tim sneezed with a tiny squeak.

The small, pitchy sound echoed was absorbed into the thick mass of tree branches in front him. He sniffled and rubbed hard at his nose. It burned a little, and his eyes watered more than he liked. He swiped at their corners as he stepped back from the nearly finished tree because he didn't want Jason and Dick to think that he's been crying.

Then he saw the way that they were looking at him from their positions around the Christmas tree. Jason like Tim didn't seriously just make a sound that resembled tiny kitten that got dirt up its nose. Dick like he thought Tim's sneeze was made of rainbows and unicorns.

Tim ducked his head and sniffled again.

"Sorry," he muttered. Before Jason could ask what that was or Dick begged for him to do it again, Tim raised his voice and said, "I'm done."

From his place halfway down the ladder, Alfred peered at him. He was balancing his own empty box of Christmas decorations, the contents of which were now neatly and tastefully strung around the top of the tree. Everything about it was precise, like Alfred instinctively knew where each ornament was _meant_ to go for the best effect.

"Very good, Master Timothy," he said as he stepped off the ladder.

"Me, too," Dick added. He was standing on a shorter ladder so that he could decorate the middle section of the tree and dropped the empty cardboard box to the ground. For a moment, Tim thought that he was going to jump down after it. One well-place glare from Alfred stopped that, though.

"I think that's it for the decorations," Jason said as he dropped another empty box onto the pile they had started awhile go.

Damian glared up at him from among them before he spotted the new one Jason left. Picking it up, he placed it on top of the others he had stacked while they decorated and the crawled inside the little cardboard fort he made for himself. When he first started, Dick cooed about how cute it was for an hour. Even now Tim could hear the _click_ of his phone's camera going off.

"The only thing left is this old thing," Jason said and lifted an shiny metal star from a box that looked older than Alfred.

Tilting his head back, Tim squinted up at the top of the tree. This was the main tree in the manor: the one that was put for the Wayne Christmas Gala that they were hosting this weekend. Every decoration on it was old and expensive, and not an inch of the giant tree was left bare. Except for the top. Even if Alfred stood on the top of ladder, he wouldn't be able to get up there.

"So how are we going to get it on?" Jason asked as he came to stand between Dick and Tim.

The three boys stared upwards: Dick with his hands on his hips, Jason with a frown, and Tim biting his lower lip in the thought.

"I could climb up there," Dick said. "It's not that high."

Jason snorted. "You're too big, and I can't because..." He held up his casted arm.

Climbing might work, but no matter what Dick said, fifteen was actually kind of high. Jason was right too that Dick was too big for something that tall that wasn't really weighted down.

"I could do it," Tim said. "I'm small en– _choo_!"

He sniffled again. Jason ignored his sneeze this time, but Tim noticed the way Dick was casually playing 'checking' his phone. Tim didn't doubt the next sneeze would be caught and posted within the next ten minutes, no matter how much he'd beg Dick not to.

So climbing a tree that he's probably allergic to maybe wasn't the best idea.

"Maybe we could just throw it up there," Jason said.

But neither was that.

"No one is climbing the tree," Alfred said. "Nor will we be catapulting a hundred year old antique to the top and hope for the best."

The sternness that this was said caused Dick and Jason to deflate a little, as if they both thought that their ideas were solid ones.

Taking the star from Jason, Alfred said, "We'll just have to wait putting it up until the decorators arrive later this week with a taller ladder."

"But it's almost done," Dick groaned.

The familiar burn started to build in Tim's nose again, and he knew that if he didn't leave now, the next sneeze would be all over Dick's social media page. Quietly and quickly, Tim slipped away from the other two, who were still trying to figure out the Christmas star problem. Damian noticed him long enough to glare a warning to not step on his box fort but went back to ignoring him as soon as Tim was a safe distance away.

A sneeze tore from Tim just as he stepped out into the hallway. Thankfully, though, it was covered by Jason asking, "Do you think B would let us borrow a grappling hook?"

His eyes were beginning to water again, so Tim rubbed them with his palm. He could almost hear his mother telling him that he shouldn't do that. That good boys wiped them with a tissue or handkerchief like the one that she sent him for Hanukkah this year. It was from Greece and made out of real silk. It was still in its box on one of the shelves in Tim's room, along with the other presents that they sent.

Tim had really hoped that his parents would come home for either Hanukkah or Christmas this year. He hadn't seen them since right after school started, back when Bruce and his parents agreed that Tim should stay with Bruce so he wouldn't be lonely and could show Dick and Jason the ropes of being a child in high society. That's what Bruce told Mother and Dad, anyway, and they went along with it. (Tim didn't really understand why, but thought Bruce must have used some kind of Batman trick on them.) They told him then that they probably wouldn't be back until the spring at the earliest, but Tim still hoped.

He really thought they might have after what happened with the Joker. They didn't, though. They called and made sure he was okay and told him that they gave Bruce the authority to transfer him to Gotham Prep (Gotham Academy's sister elementary school), but they weren't coming back. They were in the middle of dig and couldn't leave just yet, but they loved him and would see him soon. Mother promised to call him for Hanukkah to see if he liked what she sent him (she forgot), and she and Dad would be sure to video-chat with him on Christmas. Tim wasn't really counting on it, but he did hope.

He sniffled and scratched his nose before glancing inside the hall again. Jason was pointing at one section of the tree Dick had decorated. Tim couldn't hear what he was saying, but he figured that he must be making fun of it because Dick was waving his arms around like he always did when he was trying to defend something.

Alfred and the shorter ladder Dick had used were both gone. The taller one was still set up next to the tree. Tim started at the height difference between the two. It was close, but Alfred was just a little too short to reach the top on it. If he was just about three inches taller.

Like Bruce.

A grin crossed Tim's face before he headed towards Bruce's study. It was a little bit of trip from the main hall, especially for someone Tim's size, but he didn't mind. He loved being around Dick and Jason (he even didn't mind Damian all that much), but Tim was still getting use to so many people being in the same house as him. Sometimes, it was nice to be alone, even if it was only for a little while.

As he made his way across the manor, Tim pretended that he was on the streets of Gotham, following along side Batman. He'd jump from shadow to shadow, imagining that they were alleyways or rooftops where he and Batman were searching for villains. His steps were light and fast, and Tim would have been very proud of how little sound he was making if it weren't for the occasional sniffle.

Tim slowed his silent run to a stop once he reached Bruce's study and raised his hand to knock when a muffled voice from the other side stopped him.

"I'm just saying that you should think about it," a man said.

Tim didn't really recognize the voice, but there was something kind of familiar about it. Like something he'd heard on TV or maybe on the radio once.

Bruce replied to the suggestion with a flat, "No."

A long suffering sigh followed.

"It'd go a long way in stopping those rumors."

"I'm not having my home and city invaded just because Jordan has convinced some of the others that his idiotic idea about the boys might be true," Bruce said.

"Attending a Christmas party is hardly an invasion, Bruce," the man replied. "Look, I know you don't like this, but it's not going to stop. Especially after you let Dick go with you after the Joker. You've got admit that you can see where they're getting the wrong idea."

Tim could practically hear Bruce growling. "I did not clone myself to make a small army of child soldiers."

"I know that," the man said. "So do Zatanna and Barry. But –."

" _Achoo_!"

Tim slapped his hands over his mouth, but he knew it was already too late. Even with his baby mouse sneeze, there was no way that Bruce didn't hear him. Not this close.

Four quick steps later, the door the study opened. Bruce frowned down at him.

"Tim?"

He shifted uncomfortably. If there was one thing that his parents taught him, it was good manners. Listening in on someone else conversation was most definitely not good manners. An apology was right on his tongue when the man Bruce had been speaking too spoke up again.

"I didn't even hear him," he said with an impressed laugh. "You sure about the clone thing?"

Bruce turned a flat look on his guest, which allowed Tim a chance to see the man. Tim felt his eyes grow wide and his jaw drop a little when he saw who it was.

With a cheery smile, he stepped towards Bruce and Tim and held out his hand. "Hi. I'm – "

"Superman," Tim breathed and then slapped his hands over his mouth like he just said one of Jason's swear words.

He wasn't in his Superman outfit, so he was really Clark Kent. Tim knew this and knew that calling a superhero by his hero name when he was dressed like a civilian wasn't something he should do. (He knew that the same way that he knew what would happen to the chandelier.)

"Sorry," he muttered.

Mr. Clark blinked in a somewhat dazed way, like Tim had managed to catch him off-guard – which, really, Tim knew he had.

"It's okay," Mr. Clark said with a nervous laugh. "You just surprised me, is all. I've never been mistaken for –"

"He knows, Clark," Bruce said. "Don't lie to him."

Mr. Clark turned to Bruce, but he was watching Tim with a frown. Tim felt himself shrink a little while he tried to figure out what exactly that look was.

It wasn't like the one his mother would give him when he was rude. He'd seen that one enough to know it. He had seen this one before, though. It was just usually directed at Jason and not himself.

Tim thought he was going to ask him how he knew, but Bruce instead asked, "What do you need, Tim?"

It was then that Tim remembered exactly why he had come to Bruce's study in the first place. He smiled a little as a thought occurred to him.

It was true that Bruce was tall enough to get the star on top of the tree.

But Mr. Clark could fly.


	9. Nine: Snow Goose

**Nine: Snow Goose**

Dick's lungs burned with every ice-cold breath he took as he ran up the slippery, snow-covered stairs. Normally, he'd take two at a time, but his foot had slid dangerously to the right when he started his assent. Sure, he had great balance and probably could have made it to the top without breaking his neck, but his common sense (which, for some reason, sounded a lot like Bruce when he was telling him not to be reckless during training) told him that he shouldn't chance it. He just needed to get to the top and fast while he had the chance. It wouldn't be long before they realized that he wasn't in his hiding spot anymore, and then –

A snowball exploded on the railing next to Dick and sent powder flying through the air. He didn't slow down but chanced a glance behind him in time to see Jason throw another snowball. Dick dodged left, which took him out of the Jason's snowball's trajectory...and right into Tim's.

"Good shot, Timbers," Jason said as Dick tried to brush some of the snow out of his ear. Tim really did have pretty good aim.

"I told you he'd go left," Tim replied in what would almost be considered a self-satisfied kind of way had it been from anyone else. Tim just made it sound like a known fact.

At least Bruce had decided to stay inside. Training would suck if he knew that Dick was becoming predictable enough that a six-year-old knew how he was going to move.

Scrambling up the last few steps, Dick slid behind the large concrete column for some protection against the new onslaught coming from below. A few of the snowballs hit column or the banister just above his head, and one wild throw managed to actually make it over and plop right on top of his head, sending ice slush right down his ears and neck. Maybe he should have listened to Alfred when he told him to wear a hat, even if it was as ridiculous as the one Alfred made Tim wear. At least he was warm.

Couching down low, Dick packed a snowball and peeked around his cover.

Jason had taken position at the bottom of the stairs, standing on the other side of the column that matched the one Dick was hiding behind at the top. He hadn't bothered to zip up his jacket yet after he took it off to get the snow that Dick had dumped down it and started this whole thing. Alfred wouldn't be happy.

Tim was no where to be seen, but Dick didn't think for a minute that he'd give up. Not after Dick had turned on him during the first battle.

Hey, all's fair in love and snowball wars.

Standing up, Dick threw his snowball at Jason, who easily ducked down behind the column. It knocked some of the snow off the top and onto Jason, but did little else.

Well, that and exposed Dick to Tim's on assault from behind one of the nearby bushes that lined the staircase. It happened so fast that all Dick saw was Tim pop up like a Jack-n-the-Box and then white slush hitting him right in the face.

Crouching down, Dick shook the ice-cold from his face and shoulders as he heard Jason cheering Tim on again.

Okay, so betraying Tim, maybe not Dick's best strategy.

Still, couldn't let _them_ know that.

"You guys give up yet?" he yelled out.

His only answer was a barrage of snowballs hitting the column.

A deep chuckle drew Dick's attention away from the onslaught. Bruce stood a few feet away, seeming perfectly comfortable in the freezing weather even though he didn't have on a coat or gloves or anything like Alfred had made all three of them wear before letting them out of the house. On top of that, his black turtleneck and pants made him stand out from the cold white that covered the entirety of terrace, which made Dick wonder how exactly he'd missed his approach. He'd like to chalk it up to him being Batman and hoped Bruce did too.

"Shouldn't they be asking you that?" he asked, sounding far too amused.

"I've got it under control," Dick replied.

Which, of course, is when another bombardment of snowballs come flying at him.

Dick said, "Well, maybe I could use a little help."

Bruce, however, raised an eyebrow. "After the way you turned on Tim?"

Dick felt his face to heat up, but before he could reply, another snowball arched high in the air and hit Bruce square in the chest. Dick's eyes widen, and he quickly stood up to see where it had come from. Tim had manged to make his way back to the bottom and was staring up in horror at Jason, who was halfway up the staircase. He smirked and tossed another snowball from hand to hand and then asked, "What you going to do about it, Old Man?"

Dick's attention shot back over to Bruce. After a moment, Bruce returned the stare.

A smile that could almost be described as malicious spread across Dick's face. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Alfred stood at the opened French doors with a small smile as the sounds of childish shrieks and shouts of encouragements filled the otherwise silent room. Just below them was a deep laughter that this house had only started to hear more of in the past six months than it had in years, which caused Alfred's smile to grow. It was a sound that warmed him far beyond anything that the comfortable fire in the hearth could do.

From his vantage point, he could see that Master Bruce had captured both Master Jason and Master Tim and had lifted them both off the ground. They both squirmed uselessly as they tried to get the arm that held them to release them but to no avail, as Master Bruce walked over to one of the deeper snowdrifts that had gathered towards the bottom of the slight hill that lead down from the manor. Master Jason was yelling to let him go, but at the same time, gripped tightly onto Master Bruce when he realized what he planned to do to him. As Master Bruce began to throw the boy, Master Jason held on to him. Combined with Master Timothy throwing his weight back towards Master Bruce resulted in him overbalancing himself. He twisted as he fell so that he didn't fall on either one of the boys, who laughing and encouraging each other for revenge.

Not one to be left out, Master Dick fell down besides them and started to toss snow over himself and onto the others.

Alfred's smile grew.

"Ennyurth."

Master Damian sat on the floor in front of the gated fireplace. There were a multitude of drawn upon paper around him, but the boy's latest creation had been at least temporarily abandoned so that he maybe address Alfred.

He was the only one of the four children who had refused to go outside. Not at first, of course. He had been just as curious as any other young child the first time they see snow. Even with the multitude of layers that he dressed him, however, Master Damian had not wanted to leave the manor when he realized the freezing temperature outside. Instead, he had chosen to spend the day with his father inside and by the fire, coloring his pictures and occasionally watching the other boys play in the snow.

He barely paid Alfred any mind earlier when he came in with the hot chocolate – which was not so hot any longer – for the boys, but Alfred was worth his attention now.

Crossing his arms, Master Damian said, "Cold."

Alfred glanced back out the open door and then closed it.

"Quite right, Master Damian," he said as he walked over to the boy and picked him up. "I'm afraid your father and brothers will be occupied for a while long yet, but never worry. You can help me finish preparing dinner until they return."

AN: Just something short.


	10. Ten: Nightingale

There are senses that all animals, not matter how evolved, still have. Base senses, ones that signals when danger is near. They're primal things, born out of survival, that most people followed without thought. They're the gut feeling that tells you run sometimes when you hear running footsteps behind you or to lie perfectly still in your bed when an unfamiliar creak just outside your bedroom door at night. You tense for a second and listen to that little voice that tells you to fight or run. Some people go with their instinct, whatever it may be, while others fight against it with arguments of sensibility. Sometimes it works: others, it doesn't.

Bruce had spent a better part of a decade sharpening his own. Instincts were, after all, designed to keep you alive. If you could just trust yours, train yourself to know when a situation warranted fight or flight, it freed your conscious mind to face the challenge in a more logical way. See what needed to been. Deduce what needed deduction. That way the solution could be found.

Instincts like that weren't something that you could turn off. Even when he was home safe in his bed, they were still active. Which was why he became very aware of a pair of eyes watching him in his sleep. However, there was no sense of danger. Nothing that told him he should spring at whatever was staring at him nor try to protect himself from an oncoming attack. Just that someone was there, waiting.

Slowly, Bruce opened his eyes and glanced towards the foot of his bed. A few feet to the right stood Tim. It placed him at an awkward angle, one that would have made it nearly impossible to reach should Bruce had awaken and decided to attack. The best possible place to be that had to have been carefully chosen.

Bruce was torn between being proud that Tim figured that out and dismayed that a six-year-old would think to do such a thing.

"Tim?" he asked as he slowly sat up.

A quick glance at the clock told him that he had only gone to bed an hour or so before, which meant Alfred shouldn't be getting the boys up for school for at least another two and half.

There was also the fact that this was Tim. Out of all the children in the house, he was the least likely to wake up in the middle of night and seek him out. He didn't know Janet Drake that well still, but it was obvious that Tim had been taught from a young age to be more independent than most children. He couldn't see her indulging in such behavior as this unless it was for an emergency of some sort, so Tim's being here was causing an uncomfortable knot to form in Bruce's chest. It wasn't as overbearing as the one that formed when he got a call from Alfred that Damian was missing, or as painful as he sat next to Jason's hospital bed waiting for the boy to finally wake up, but any traces of fatigue he might have felt otherwise was quickly evaporating as he sat up to give Tim his full attention.

"What are you doing in here?" Bruce asked.

Tim fidgeted and began to play with the hem of the Star Lab t-shirt.

"Jason said to come get you," he replied. In a rush, he added, "Dick's sick."

Some of the tension in his chest released a little as the more terrifying thoughts – someone missing from their beds or a serious injury that needed attention – began to fade from the forefront, but his confusion still lingered. True, he knew children would on occasion wake an adult in the middle of the night if they or one of the others were sick – Bruce himself had vague memories of standing next to his father when he was very small and felt awful and knew his parents needed to know. However, he had just assumed that if the boys ever found themselves in such a state that they would retrieve Alfred instead of him. Alfred was a doctor once, after all.

Maybe that was where Jason was, since he sent Tim to get him. It still didn't explain why they wanted Bruce there.

He still should check on Dick anyway, even if Alfred probably had everything under control. Tim was worried, which worried Bruce in itself.

Slipping from his bed, Bruce followed a relieved Tim into the dark manor halls.

The boys' rooms weren't too far from his own. Doors were opened to darken rooms, thought fainted bit of light could be seen coming from inside of Dick's. The light sound of running water, wet coughs, and Jason's somewhat berating voice echoed in the silence and pushed Bruce to walk a little faster than he had before.

The harsh light of Dick's bathroom completely illuminated his bedroom, which made it easy for Bruce to dodge the unrepentant mess that Dick had managed to cause in the past twelve hours. That tight ball returned in full force once he stepped into the bathroom.

Dick was curled on his side on the bathmat in front of the toilet. His lanky frame shook every few seconds as more deep coughs tore from his throat. Jason sat in front of him, holding him on his side and making sure the wet washcloth didn't slip from his neck. Annoyance and worry pinched his face as he muttered about Dick being a "dumb-ass" and how he should have said something earlier instead of getting this sick. He looked up the instant that Bruce stepped through the doors and his shoulders relaxed.

"B," Jason said. How he said it struck Bruce hard: like now that he was there Jason could stop worrying because Bruce would somehow make this better. Like he could make Dick well again by simply being there.

Kneeling next to them, Bruce pushed Dick more onto his back so that he was now looking up at him. His too-bright cheeks stood out sharply against his pallid face, which his bangs were now stubbornly sticking to. His normally bright eyes were dull and slightly out-of-focus as he blinked up at Bruce.

"Hey, Bruce," he slurred and then frowned. "I don't feel so good."

"How long has he been like this?" Bruce asked.

Jason shrugged and said, "I heard something fall a little while ago and found him like this."

A coughing fit shook through Dick once more. Jason jumped slightly and grabbed Dick's shoulder to roll him back on his side. He held him there until the coughs quieted and then turned his wide-eyes to Bruce.

"Shit, B," he said. "Is he going to be okay?"

Bruce pressed his lips and replaced the still damp washcloth onto Dick's forehead. He estimated that Dick's temperature was probably somewhere between one hundred one to one hundred two degrees, and that whatever this was had firmly settled into his lungs. It was fast acting, too, since Dick had seemed fine at dinner. Maybe a little less hungry than normal, but nothing that had caused him nor Alfred any concern. Even when Bruce had checked on him when he was on his way to bed earlier – had it really only been about an hour? – he hadn't really noticed anything. Dick had seemed a little listless in his sleep and maybe a little snotty, but he hadn't noticed anything that could have singled anything this bad.

Clearly, he hadn't paid close enough attention.

Jason was still watching him and waiting for his answer. Instead, Bruce glanced over his shoulder to Tim, who was standing in the door silently sucking on the side of his finger.

"Tim," he said carefully like he would a frightened witness, "I need you to go get Alfred. Tell him that Dick is sick, and I need him to bring the car around. Then I need you to put on your shoes and your coat and wait for us downstairs."

The finger popped out of Tim's mouth as he gave two sharp nods and then disappeared back into the darkness.

Turning his attention back to Jason, he said, "Go get Damian and put him in something warm."

"Got it, boss," Jason said as he scrambled to his feet. He was a little less silent than Tim, and Bruce heard him pause in the doorway before taking off himself.

Bruce debated for about half a second before picking Dick up like he would Damian or Tim. Dick was at that awkward stage where his arms and legs were too long and too thin for his body. All knees and elbows, was the saying that came to mind, actually. It made carrying him anyway besides a bridal style, over the shoulder, or a fireman carry awkward, but Dick was too sick for the last two styles; and Bruce felt vaguely sick himself about carrying him the former way as images of bodies from past crept to mind. So he managed and was prepared to let Dick wrap around him like an octopus if he so chose.

The fact that he just loosely draped his arms over Bruce's shoulders and hung there worried Bruce more than anything.

"Bruce!"

He was running before he even registered the fact. Dick clung a little tighter to him in response and muttered nonsense to his chest, but Bruce's attention was temporarily focused on the nursery where Jason's scram came from. Small whimpers and angry cries echoed behind it as Bruce stopped in the doorway.

Damian was struggling in Jason's grip, his small face scrunched up as hot tears fell down his too-bright cheeks. After only a few seconds, though, he gave up the fight and pushed his face into Jason's neck.

Jason turned his wide-eyes to Bruce and said, "He's as hot as Dick."

That tight ball constricted ever more. A temperature as high as Dick's was dangerous for someone his age. A child as young as Damian...

They needed to get to the hospital. Now.

Dick's slight giggle sounded odd next to his ear as Dick lazily muttered, "You wish you were, Jaybird."


	11. Eleven: Avian

Tim's chest itched on the inside. He squirmed a bit and hoped that Mother wouldn't frown at him the way she sometimes did when he fidgeted too much when they were out a crowded, quiet restaurant. She wasn't frowning yet. She was too busy talking too Mrs. Thompson, his old kindergarten teacher from last year when he went to Robert Duncan. Tim thought that was kind of strange, especially since Mrs. Thompson was dressed in the old smack she used to wear when it Art Time, and they were going to get to paint that day. That wasn't something you wore to a party, especially one being held at the top of Wayne Tower.

Not the top floor, but the very top. People were standing on gargoyle heads and guard railing, and any vacant bit of space that the narrow, pointed roof would give. The live band was somehow balancing themselves on the top tower and playing some song that Tim didn't know and couldn't really hear over the howl of the wind. No one seem to mind or care about it, so Tim tried not to either.

Tim shifted again to try and stop the itching, but a cough finally tore out of his mouth before he could stop it. The more he fought to keep himself from doing so, the faster and harder they came.

His mother shifted her gaze from Mrs. Thompson to Tim. She raised a single eyebrow and asked, "Timothy?"

The entire party became quiet. Even the wind.

"Tim?" Dad asked. A frowned pulled on his face as he glanced down at Tim, but it wasn't as disapproving as Mother's.

Still, Tim couldn't stop.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder as Bruce knelt down next to him. "Tim, are you okay?"

Everyone was staring at him as he continue to cough, but his chest wouldn't stop itching and now so was his throat; and his head was staring to hurt with every hacking gust that burst past his lips; and he couldn't catch his breath now; and he began to wonder if this was what it felt like to choke to death; and –

Rolling onto his side, Tim coughed himself awake and blinked away the last bit of the dream. His whole body seemed to shake as he did so, and his head was ached a little more each time. After what felt like forever, the fit began to pass, and Tim was finally able to full realize that he was safely curled up on a soft bed. Groaning, he buried his face into his fuzzy pillow that had Superman's symbol on it but kicked at the matching fleece blanket that had been thrown over him. He felt too hot and slightly sticky, and even though he loved the Christmas gift from Mr. (Uncle?) Clark, he really didn't want it on him right at the moment. Maybe in a little while after he cooled off, but not now.

"You okay, Timbo?"

Cracking an eye open, Tim looked down at the end of the bed. Dick was sitting just past the end of Tim's blanket with Damian in his lap and a handful of cards. His nose was red and the nasally sound that Dick had spoken with since he got sick the week before was still clearly heard. It wasn't as bad as before, not like Tim's own voice for the past few days, but it was still there.

Damian was kicking about in Dick's lap, grabbing at the cards as if they meant something to him. He didn't look near as bad as Dick still did, or how bad Tim felt, but the occasional tiny cough would escape from him his mouth and onto the cards. The vague thought that that was rude crossed Tim's mind (and sounded a lot like Mother if he thought about it), but Damian was barely two and wouldn't know any better.

Tim was kind of surprised to see Jason sitting across from Dick and Damian with his own set of cards in hand. He'd been just as sick as Tim earlier. In fact, he'd actually been sicker for the past few days than him and Dick, with a high fever instead of a low like Tim. The medicine that Dr. Lesley had given them had kept it was getting as high as Dick's had gotten that first night, but Tim knew that Alfred and Bruce didn't like how long it had been running at over a hundred. He must be feeling a lot better, though, because Jason was not only sitting up playing cards but also looking at Dick like he was ready to throttle him for taking so long.

Lifting his head, Tim laid it so that he could face Dick without having to actually sit up and nodded. "I'm okay."

"Sure you don't need some water?" Dick asked. "I could get you some."

Even though Dick looked like he was ready to go get some anyway, Tim still shook his head. His chest didn't itch any longer, so he thought he'd be okay for at leas a little while.

"You sure?" Dick asked again.

Jason rolled his eyes and said, "Stop trying to smother him, Dickiebird. If he needs something, he'll let us know."

Frowning, Dick said, "Just because you're too stubborn to ask for anything doesn't mean Tim is."

"And just because you feel guilty about giving everyone the flu doesn't mean you keep bugging him," Jason shot back.

Dick's cheeks and neck turned pink at the accusation, but before he could deny or argue with Jason, a gruff "Stop it, both of you" cut him off.

Bruce groaned slightly as he pushed himself up in a more sitting position than he had been moments before. As he pulled his hands over his face to wipe away the last bit of sleep, the book he had been reading to them earlier slid off his chest and bounced closed. Tim couldn't really remember the last part he had heard, but he vaguely thought it had something to do with Sir Percy promising to save his wife's brother.

That awkward smile reappeared on Dick's face as he said, "Hey, Bruce. You feeling any better?"

"I'm fine, Dick," he replied. Tim might have thought he was telling the truth if Bruce didn't look as bad as Tim felt.

"That is yet to be determined, Master Bruce."

Rolling onto his back, Tim watched as Alfred set down a tray of medicine on the end table next to the queen that was across the room from the king they had all gathered on that day. He picked up the ear thermometer and then made his round. Dick's and Damian's fevers broke the day before, but Alfred still checked them anyway. He had told them earlier that if they still didn't have one by that night, they'd be banished from this area of the house until everyone was better too. Alfred gave an approving nod when he checked Dick's temperature, which was closely followed by another at Damian's.

"Twenty-four hours and neither of you have spiked," he said. "I'd say that you are both well on the mend."

"So, back to our rooms tonight, Alfred?" Dick asked as Alfred came over to Tim to check him.

"I'd say so, Master Dick," he said. "I've already readied them for your return."

Dick probably made a face or something, since the only thing he seemed to like about being sick was the forced togetherness time, but Tim was too tired to worry with it. It didn't take Alfred but a minute to check his temperature. Judging by the frown, he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

Tucking his Superman blanket back around – Tim hadn't even realized he was shivering again – Alfred smiled at him and said, "Not to worry, Master Timothy. I'm sure yours will break any time now."

Tim could only nod in response and pulled his blanket more tightly around himself.

Jason was next up, and Alfred was clearly relieved when his did come back normal.

"Can't I go back to my room, too, Alfie?" Jason asked.

"Not just yet, I'm afraid," Alfred said. "But I'll bring you a cookie up for dessert tonight, if you're feeling up to it."

Pretending to think it over for a moment, Jason said, "I can live with that."

Tim tried not to make a face at the thought of a cookie, even if it was one of Alfred's. That just sounded like...'no' right now. Maybe forever, too. Tim hoped not, though. He really did like Alfred's cookies.

Tim felt Bruce push himself up even more when Alfred turned his attention to him. Though he couldn't see it, Tim was pretty sure that Bruce was trying not to glare as Alfred patiently waited for him to at least pretend to cooperate.

"I don't need you to check my temperature, Alfred," Bruce said just before he began to cough deeply. Tim tried not to wince at the sound, but he didn't know how successful he was at it. Bruce could be really loud when he wanted, and Tim's head was still hurting.

"No, I'd say I most certainly do not." Returning to the try with the medicine, Alfred asked, "Do you wish for me to contact Mr. Kent should any emergency need tending too tonight in Gotham?"

Now Tim knew that Bruce was glaring, but he didn't dare take his gaze off of Alfred. This had been an ongoing battle between the two men since Bruce passed out at dinner three nights ago. Tim still remembered when Alfred had brought him in there after Bruce woke up, and told Jason and Tim to move from the queen to the king with Dick and Damian. It actually been kind of scary seeing _Batman_ that sick, and even worse when Bruce still thought he was well enough to go out on patrol. Tim wasn't exactly sure what Alfred gave Bruce to make him pass out again that fast, but it had started this ongoing war that didn't look to be ending any time soon.

Tim, at least, had the good grace to not look like he was listening too closely to, but Dick and Jason both were turning their heads back and forth like they were watching a tennis match.

After a solid minute of silence passed, Bruce said, "We'll talk about it later."

Seeming satisfied for the moment, Alfred nodded his head.

"Very good, sir," he said.

The tension lowered for a moment as Alfred went about preparing the dosages that Dr. Lesley had left for them. However, before he finished, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled letter.

"By the way, I thought you might want to see this," he said. "I found this is Master Dick's room earlier when I changing the bed sheets."

"What is it?" Bruce asked as he took the letter – which now that Tim could see it up close, he realized was actually just a folded piece of paper like teachers give you at school. In fact, it was just like one.

"It's a note from Gotham Academy," Alfred said, "warning parents that the new strain of flu has hit the school particularly hard this year, and that if your child should start to have a fever or dizziness, you should take them to the doctor immediately."

Raising an eyebrow, Alfred turned to Dick and said, "I do believe it was dated from two weeks ago."

Gulping, Dick ducked down at little almost as if he were hiding behind Damian.

"Um, yeah, I meant to give that to you guys," he said. "Ah...oops?"


	12. Twelve: Songbird

_Woop._

Pausing mid-sentence on his article about LexCorp latest charity event, Clark glanced over at his phone at the sound of incoming text message. He expected it to be another message from Lois, who had spent most of the afternoon trying to run down a lead and having little luck. Clark had known Lois for some time and knew that if she wanted to find it, she was perfectly capable of doing so on her own. He also knew that she often got frustrated and needed to vent from time to time. His job in all this was too listen, so that was what he did. She was vented; he listened – or read, in this particular case. Therefore he wasn't surprised to hear his phone chime to life.

He was surprised to see that it was a video and most certainly not from Lois.

Frowning, Clark picked it up and read the attached message from an unknown number.

 **Kryptonite.**

Normally, something like that would have caused a sinking feeling which would be followed by panic, but he recognized the person in the video still. Bruce was standing in front of what looked to be the vanity of a very nice bathroom, and was holding Damian. The two-year-old had his arms crossed and mirrored Bruce's scowl. It was kind of scary that a kid that young could imitate his father that well. Cute, but scary.

The combination of the text and the video of a Bruce and Damian alleviated Clark's worry. There were only three, very short people who could have done this, and Clark was pretty sure that whatever he was about to see would be well worth Batglare he would get later one – because there was absolutely no way these kids didn't get caught. They were getting good, but not that good.

God help Bruce Wayne when they were.

He pressed play, which started the video in mid-conversation between father and son.

" _...to do, Damian,"_ Bruce said.

" _No,"_ Damian replied. _"_ _Song."_

If he didn't have his arms full, Clark knew Bruce would be pinching his nose. He did often enough when he had to deal with Hal and Oliver.

He said, _"_ _Damian."_

" _Song!"_

Bruce wasn't the type to roll his eyes, and Clark wouldn't call what he was doing that anyway. It was more of looking to heaven for strength than petulant teenager told to go clean their room.

Kneeling down, Bruce placed Damian on the floor next to a training toilet. Clark remembered Dick saying something about potty training the last time they spoke – during the "Epidemic", as the boys had taken to calling it. Things had been going well from what Dick had said, but he hadn't said anything about having to _sing_.

Clark expected Bruce to deny Damian again. He expected Bruce to insist that Damian act like a good little solider and do what needs to be done. He expected Bruce to wait the kid out.

He did not expect Bruce, the Dark Knight and ever feared Batman, to start to sing the Elmo Potty Time song.

For two painfully long minutes.

Before he was finished, however, the camera phone moved. Bruce stopped mid-word and turned towards it. There was an " _Oh, shit_ " and then the video stopped.

Clark stared at his phone, stuck in that odd place between shock and amusement. He pressed his lips together tightly and tried not to repeat what he just saw in his head again. It was hard, though, considering how...unique Bruce's singing was. That was something that was going to haunt him for years to come.

Another _wooping_ pulled Clark out of his thoughts. The video was gone from his phone. That was no surprised. Judging by the curse at the end, Bruce must have caught Jason. It wouldn't take anytime for him to find out who Jason had sent it to, nor for him to retrieve it off Clark's phone. With both of that done, all that was left was –

 **I can trust your discretion on this matter, I hope.**

Clark smiled to himself.

 **Of course** , he texted back. **How long is Jason grounded for?**

There was a moment before the reply came.

 **Long enough.**

This time, Clark did laugh.

 **Go easy on him** , he replied. **He's just a kid.**

 **Besides, Bruce, you should really just learn to let it go. Just go with the flow. You can do it, I know.**

If Bruce had heat vision, Clark was pretty sure that he'd be a smoldering pile of ash at the next JL meeting next week. As it were, he could feel the full on Batglare that Bruce was leveling at Jason's phone right about now.

Really, Bruce should be glade that Jason sent it to him. Clark really didn't want to think of the civil war that would have happened if Hal would have gotten hold of it.

AN: Just a super silly short. Someone asked for potty training and, well, this came about. Hope it wasn't too bad.


	13. Thirteen: Sitting

AN: I'm terribly sorry guys about the earlier chapter post. I must have clicked something wrong. Here's the correct chapter.

"I can't believe he's doing this."

Jason raised an eyebrow at Dick, whose face was pressed against his arms that were resting on the wooden railing of the landing that overlooked the foyer. As if every muscle in his skinny body decided to turn off, Dick practically melted to the floor as he groaned in frustration. Jason really didn't react to him since after eight months of living with the guy he knew that Dick could really be dramatic when he wanted to. Instead, he just stepped to the side so that Tim could move over so that Dick wouldn't flop completely on top of him.

In his over-dramatic, drama queen way, Dick said, "This is so embarrassing."

Snorting, Jason replied, "No shit."

Leaning over the railing, Jason rested his chin on top of his crossed arms. A small frown tugged at his lips as he blew a small piece of his hair from his eyes. It flew upwards for only a moment, before resting right back in place, blocking part of his glaring view. When he did that at dinner, he'd seen the way Alfred had paused from lifting a plate, which meant that Jason had a very small window of opportunity to convince Alfred to take him to a barber instead of letting the butler cut it himself. Alfred was good at a lot of things, but Jason preferred to not have the bowl cut like Timmy was having to sport of the next few months.

That could wait though. Right now, they had a bigger problem. One that would be arriving in the next ten minutes or so.

"I mean, I can do it. I'm almost thirteen, and I have training! I could watch you guys for a few hours." Lifting his face up, Dick scrunched up his nose and said, "We don't need a _babysitter_."

A babysitter. Bruce had gotten them a babysitter. Jason sneered at the thought.

For as far back as Jason could remember, he'd practically been raising himself. Yeah, his mom was there, but not really at the same time. Not in the that really counted. He was the one that got up in the morning and made sure they had something to eat. He was the one that made sure there was a little food in the cabinets, even if it was nothing else than a jar a peanut butter and maybe some crackers that he swiped from Mr. Chan's store down the street. He did all the stuff that needed to be done and hadn't needed anyone watch him do it. Did Bruce really think his living in the manor the past few months made him forget how?

Maybe if it was just Timmy and Damian, he could see it. God knows they needed adult supervision, and Dick wouldn't near be about enough to make sure that Damian didn't try and kill Tim, or that Tim didn't disappear somewhere in the house for six hours to be alone again.

But Jason himself? If he didn't one when three in Crime Alley, he didn't need one now that he in a Wayne Manor.

Dick was right. It was embarrassing.

There was a little bit of a frown on Tim's face as he looked up at them and said, "Maybe it won't be so bad. Babysitters can be fun."

"This is Bruce we're talking about, Tim," Dick sighed. "I promise you, whoever it is, _fun_ isn't high on their list of priorities."

Jason pulled a face at the thought.

Whoever it was, was going to have to be someone that Bruce trusted to keep them safe. That narrowed the list down a lot because B was paranoid. There were only like a handful of people that Jason could think of that might be that list.

It wasn't a member of the Justice League, he knew that. If it was, Bruce would have just said that they were coming over to watch them while he and Alfred went to that stupid fundraiser tonight. (It was some kind of 'save the whatever' that Jason wasn't 100% sure was an actually animal but knew for sure that, if one had somehow got into one of those snobs house, they'd call an exterminator.) So, no JL members, which made the list even shorter.

Visions of former prison wardens and ex-special agents danced through Jason's head when the doorbell finally rang.

Dick snapped to attention, and Tim jumped up as well. Jason himself just merely raised his head as Alfred made his way to the front door. Bruce followed, and Damian toddled behind both. Bruce was already dressed for the evening and ready to leave once he was satisfied that this was the babysitter he'd hired and not some crazed lunatic who was trying to replace them. A part of Jason wondered at the other part of him that found that not only perfectly normal idea, but also something that they'd probably need to plan for. Knowing Bruce, he already did: Strategy 127 Alpha or some shit like that.

As he buttoned his tux's coat, Bruce glanced up at them and pinned them with a look that ordered them to behave.

Jason snorted. Yeah, like that was going to happen.

A cold wind kicked in some early spring rain as two figures stood before Alfred. Between the dull, rainy sunset light and the large umbrella the taller of the two figures held over them, Jason couldn't get a good view of either one of them. One was a lot shorter than the other, but other the bright pair of rain boots, there was nothing about them that stood out.

"Good evening, Commissioner," Alfred said as he stepped aside and let the pair enter.

Jim Gordon was a tall man with graying hair who screamed 'cop' even while he was dressed like a civilian. Too straight shoulders, too observant eyes, too clean – a two-year-old in Jason's old neighborhood would have picked him out the moment their pudgy little face turned his way. Even if he wanted too, there was no hiding what James Gordon was. Jason figured he didn't even try anymore.

"Hello, Alfred," Gordon replied as he placed the umbrella next to the door. He shook his overcoat a bit to get rid of any rain that the umbrella hadn't protect him from and then turned to B. "Bruce."

"Jim," Bruce replied in his best Brucie voice. He shook Gordon's hand and then said, "I'm sorry you had to come out in such bad weather."

"It's fine," Gordon said with a grin and wave of his hand. "It wouldn't be Gotham without the downpours, right?"

While Gordon and Bruce talked, Alfred helped the person with yellow boots with their coat, which blocked Jason's view. Dick, however, must have seen who it was because his face paled but his eyes widened. His lips were doing a weird thing where they tittered between a grin and grimaces every few seconds. He couldn't seem to decide whether Bruce had just made him incredibly happy or horrified beyond the telling of it.

Drawing his eyebrows together, Jason asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Surprise flashed across Dick's face, like it should be perfectly obvious. Jason had seen that look before, especially back when he had first moved into the Manor last summer. He would ask where something was or how to do something, and Dick would stare at him like Jason should know all this already. Then he'd blink, and it was like it never happened. The first few times it'd happen, Jason had flushed bright red; from anger (because no matter what Dickhead thought, Jason wasn't stupid) and embarrassment. It seemed kind of crappy of him to think Jason should just know things like where the kitchen was or why the clock entrance to the cave was set to 10:48. Now, whenever Jason saw that look, he'd just glare at Dick for the next few hours and bite his head off if he asked him anything.

Dick didn't seem concerned about that tonight, though. His eyes were solely fastened on the group in foyer. Swallowing hard, he said, "It's...um..."

Bruce's voice echoed up to them. "It's nice to see you again, Barbra."

A teenage girl a few years older than Dick pushed a loose strain of her bright red hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear as a smile pulled on her lips and shook hands with Bruce. There was only a little bit of shine to her lips, and it looked to be the only makeup she wore. She had on a pair of black tights and shorts, but everything was mostly covered up by a massive Gotham Academy sweatshirt.

No wonder Dick went all pale. She went to his school. Bruce hired a babysitter from Dick's school.

This was going to be fun.

For Jason, anyway.

"Hi, Mr. Wayne," Barbra replied. Her braces caused her to have a little bit of a lisp, but she didn't embarrassed by it. She just adjusted her bag and said, "I hope you don't mind that I brought some homework to do."

"No, that's fine. And please, call me Bruce," he said.

She nodded.

"Once Damian's down, there won't be a lot for you to do. Speaking of which." Bruce turned to usher the up until the suspicious toddler forward. "Say hello, Damian."

Barbra crouched down to Damian's level and smiled. "Hi, Damian. I'm Barbra."

Damian looked at her. Then he looked at Bruce. Then at Barbra again before crossing his arms. "No. Go 'way."

"Damian," Bruce said in that special tone that was usually reserved for Jason. It was kind of nice to not be the one on the receiving end for once.

Laughing, Barbra said, "Don't worry about it, Mr. Wayne – um, Bruce. He's not the first toddler to me."

"And, hey, I'll be here to help you," Dick said loudly and cheerily.

Before Tim and Jason knew what was happening, Dick all but run down the stairs. He was about halfway down when he seem to decide that maybe charging forward like an overeager puppy might not be the best approach, and switched to a more steady – but still fast – pace. Jason figured he was trying to go for casual, but it came across more as a marching duck to him.

Squishing nose and drawing his eyebrows tight together, Tim tilted his head at Jason, who only shrugged a shoulder in response. That was just Dick being weird, which wasn't unusual.

Barbra herself had a confused smirk on her face as Dick approached. She didn't know what was wrong with him any more than they did, apparently.

"Damian loves me," Dick said as he scooped the brat off the floor.

Angry cats didn't fight being held as much as Damian was. Tiny, chubby arms pushed and stubby little legs kicked, and the whole thing would have been hilarious if it wasn't for the screeching to release part. When a well-placed kick to the stomach nearly caused Dick to double over, he finally put the little demon down, who then hurried over to stand on the other side of Bruce. He crossed his arms, and Jason half-expected him to start snarling.

Dick was as red as Barbra's hair.

Well, Jason's night was getting better by the minute.


	14. Fourteen: Bird Dog

" _Clark suggested a dog."_

Alfred raised an eyebrow at the "dog" in question. It was term that he was using very loosely.

When Master Bruce had told him that he planned to procure a pet, Alfred had thought it was an excellent idea. It was true they were a lot of work, but he thought that a dog would be an excellent opportunity for the young masters to learn responsibility – outside of Master Bruce's training sessions that is. Learning to care for another living being was something that all children needed to do at some point or another. Plus, a dog would offer them companionship and protection for the children beyond what was already in place. Needless to say, Alfred had been rather enamored by the idea, and had heartily agreed when Master Bruce had brought up Mr. Kent's suggestion earlier that week.

However, Alfred was fairly certain that Mr. Kent had been thinking more something akin to Lassie than Seabiscuit.

The young master stood next to Alfred and were staring at the creature that sat obediently next to Master Bruce. Alfred half expected it to turn its head in curiosity at the group that was observing it, but the beast merely continued to sit as still. It was highly trained – Master Bruce wouldn't accept anything less – but its stillness was rather off-putting. Alfred had seen other animals act like that in past, and he would hardly consider any of them the sort that you would give to a child as a pet.

Hopefully, the harshest commands that this one knew were given in a different language than any of the boys knew at the moment. Otherwise that would be a bit of...not good.

Master Dick seemed particularly oblivious to Alfred's reservations about the creatures. He was practically vibrating with excitement and had been since the news of impending pet ownership had been told to him. The sheer size of it did not appear to bother Master Dick in the least, but Alfred supposed that growing up with animals even larger than this one would do that. It was not locked in a cage, nor did it have chains around it; therefore, by Master Dick's standards, it couldn't be that dangerous.

Master Jason and Master Tim did not seem to share his thoughts. Alfred could hardly blame them. The beast was only a bit shorter than Master Jason sitting down and outweighed both boys by a good seventy pounds. Anyone with iota of sense would be uneasy at first at the very least, and Alfred would say that Master Jason and Master Tim had more than a passing amount of intelligence. They may choose to ignore it from time to time, but their upbringings to this point had made them both rather sensible. Dogs such as this would pose a problem for Master Jason in his former lives, and instincts as such wouldn't abandon him within the near year that he had been with them. Master Tim simply wouldn't have been exposed to such an animal at time that Alfred was aware of, but he could certainly see how such a creature could be harmful to him. Both boys held their ground, though, and simply chose to wait patiently next to Alfred. If either one – or both – were a bit more tense than normal, well, he certainly was going to say anything.

Though he had no doubt that Master Bruce had been very careful in his selection of pet, Alfred still felt it was imperative to keep an eye on Master Damian. He most certainly had never dealt with animal of this size before and seemed to be regarding it with the same cool indifference that he usually held with anything other than Master Bruce or Master Dick. Alfred couldn't help but feel that might be a good thing for the time being. Maybe after he saw how the creature reacted to the other children he would feel differently, but for now he rather hoped that Master Damian simply chose to ignore it.

The beast in question continued to sit obediently next to his master, as still as if he had been carved from an expensive black stone. Alfred would almost swear that it was merely a statue that Master Bruce had purchased had it not been for the creature looking up when he spoke.

"This is Ace," Master Bruce said.

That was apparently enough of an incentive to send Master Dick rushing over. Alfred sucked in a breathe between his teeth as he waited for any sort of adverse reaction to such a sudden and abrupt greeting from the dog, but it took Master Dick's sudden attention in stride and merely sat there as the boy began to pet it roughly.

"He'll be your responsibility to care for," Master Bruce said to all three of the boys, but it was primarily directed it at Master Dick. "Alfred and I both expect you all to take care of him."

"Yeah, we know," Master Dick replied as he scratched behind the dog's – Ace's – ears. If it liked it, it didn't show it one way or another and just continued to appear indifferent to them all.

Alfred could see why Master Bruce would like this one.

Very slowly, Master Tim began to make his way over Master Dick and Ace. Unlike Master Dick's charge ahead approach, Master Tim apparently wanted to give Ace plenty of time to get use to the idea of him being anywhere near the creature. When he finally reached them, he carefully reached up and laid in his hand on Ace's shoulder and slowly began to stroke his fur.

The fact that Ace was not reacting at all to Master Dick practically hugging him seemed to be lost on Master Tim. If he wasn't going to react to that, Alfred highly doubted that he would mind a few tentative pats.

Master Jason, however, wasn't going to have any of it any time soon.

"Gees, B," he said as he crossed his arms. "I know it's hard for you rich guys to believe it, but bigger doesn't always mean better."

Master Bruce frowned and said, "Ace's size is actually helpful here, Jason. People are easily intimidated by a dog this size and will be less likely to come near any of you."

"Yeah, because Tim looks like he's the prefect snack size for that thing," Master Jason replied.

The tension that had begun to melt from Master Tim's shoulders returned in full strength at Master Jason's assessment. He glanced up at the dog's massive head that was only a few inches away from him and appeared to be imagining how easily his own head could fit inside those jaws.

"Don't listen to him, Timmy," Master Dick said from the other side Ace before turning a smirk towards Master Jason. "Besides, weren't you the one that said you hoped Bruce didn't bring home some 'rich-girl purse dog' this morning?"

"That didn't mean that he had bring home Padfoot," Master Jason replied flatly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at Master Jason apt comparison, but Master Dick face lit up as if some great secret had just been bestowed upon him before falling once again.

"Oh, man, we should have been able to name him that," he said with a pout. A hopeful grin tugged at his lips as he looked up at Master Bruce and said, "Is there anyway we can call him that?"

"I doubt he'll respond to you if you do," he replied.

"He doesn't act like he responds to a lot of stuff." Master Jason squinted a little at the dog and then asked Master Bruce, "You sure they didn't just give you a dog statue?"

"Ace is alive," Master Dick said. "You'd know if you weren't too scared to come over here and pet him."

Alfred held in a sigh. Here they go.

"I'm not scared," Master Jason snapped back.

"Oh, yeah, then why won't you come over here?" Master Dick taunted.

Glaring, Master Jason replied, "Because unlike some idiots, I've got enough brains to know to not go hugging something that's big enough to use me as a chew toy."

"Ace is a big baby." Grabbing either side of the dog's face, Master Dick asked, "Aren't you, boy?"

The dog nor Master Jason were very impressed with him or his question.

"You're so going to be first one he eats," Master Jason said with a shake of his head.

Sighing, Master Bruce said, "He's not going to eat anyone, Jason."

"Unless you give him some kind of weird German command, right?" he replied. "Like _guten wiedershen_ or _gefahr katze_."

"Stop trying to make him attack us!" Master Tim snapped.

At the same time, Master Bruce was pinching the bridged of his nose mutter to himself about getting Master Jason started on German lessons as soon as as possible.

"He's not going to attack, Tim," Master Dick said. "And I'll prove it."

Before Alfred could stop him, Master Dick marched over and picked up Master Damian. The boy had been occupied watching a dragon fly buzz around the back patio for the past few minutes and protested a bit at first as Master Dick carried him over to Ace. For the first time that afternoon, the dog finally decided to give some sort of reaction. He peered down at Master Damian with something that Alfred would almost swear was curiosity. Alfred supposed that he had never seen a human that small before. He could imagine whatever training he had had up until this point would include much interactions with toddlers, and Ace probably didn't know what to make of such a thing.

Master Damian for his own part stared up at the dog with a slight frown on his face. He placed his tiny hands on his hips as he studied the beast, but he was careful to not come to close just yet.

After a moment or two of just staring at one another, Master Damian ordered, "Down."

Ace tilted his head to the side for a moment, before laying down in front of Master Damian. The boy quickly sat down in front of him and began to scratch the dog's head as its tail begin to swing back and forth.

Well, it seems that Master Damian might have a knack with animals. That was rather surprising, all things considered. Not unwelcomed, of course, but not something that Alfred would have expected from such a dower, serious child.

A triumphant smile spread across Master Dick's face. "See."


	15. Fifteen: Robin

Dick smiled as he leaned back into the passenger seat. Warmth radiated up and through his Kevlar as the heater kept the cab a just the right temperature to make Dick feel a little drowsy. Or he could be crashing.

He was probably most definitely crashing.

As the last little bit of excitement and adrenaline slowly drained from Dick's body and left behind a pleasant tiredness, he watched the dark line of trees and shadows zoom past his window. The world always looked so different at night, but it was in a familiar, comfortable sort of way, especially now that his muscles had a slight ache to them like after a hard performance. It made him think of the occasional late show performances that his parents would sometime let him do – and the ones his uncle always insisted he do, but he wasn't going to think about that right now – and how keyed up he would feel right up until his head hit his pillow. He'd never even realize he'd fallen asleep, and the next thing he'd know the sun would be drifting in from the small window next to his bed in the trailer. It'd be that way tonight. He was sure of it.

Dick tried to stifle a yawn but found that he didn't really have the energy anymore for even that. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Batman turn his attention from the road for just a second to watch him. Dick just smiled back him. He'd been that so much lately that his face actually kind of hurt, but who cared. Because here he was, coming in from patrol for the first time, as Batman's official sidekick.

It was so awesome that Dick didn't even know the words to describe it. He knew a bunch of different words in a bunch of different languages, but none of them really seemed to fit the whole thing. It was easy and hard, terrifying and familiar, thrilling and tiring, and everything else all rolled into one big mess of emotions that he felt to young to know and too old to not recognize. Everything about it was just...right.

Sort of. (He pushed all those thought away, though, because running around and fighting crime with Batman was every kids' dream, and there was no way that Dick was going to blow it over stuff that hadn't happened.)

Instead, Dick decided to just bask in the greatness of it all because this week not only did he turn 13, but now he could finally be Robin.

Well, only on Friday and Saturday nights until midnight, but that was just for right now while he was still in school. It wouldn't be long until summer came around, and maybe by then he could convince Bruce (and Alfred) to let him go out patrolling a little more. It wasn't like he'd be doing a whole of anything else besides training then.

Maybe he could convince them that it could be a community service project. Bruce had been dropping hints about them taking a more active interest in that kind of thing.

Dick must have drifted off at some point because the next thing he knew the dim lights from the cave were filling up the cab of the batmobile. Batman pulled up to his usual parking space as Dick stretched his arms over his head and yawned once more.

Just as Batman killed the engine, Dick said, "That was awesome, B."

It was always hard to tell with Bruce, but Dick would swear that he smiled.

"You did good out there," Bruce said.

If Dick thought his face hurt before, it was aching now with the size of his smile.

This time, Batman actually did smile – which was kind of terrifying in itself – and said, "Go hit the showers. I'll walk you up when you're done."

If it had been any other time, Dick might have felt a little miffed by the fact that Batman was going back out without him. He knew Bruce had to. Midnight wasn't really all that late for the Gotham City Rogues, but Bruce had decided that it was plenty late enough for him. It was fine for now because at least he was getting go out. He would just have to work on trying to get more field time.

Hopefully, if he did, he wouldn't screw up again like he had with the Joker and Jason.

Ignoring the guilt that bubbled in his stomach, Dick climbed out of the car.

Alfred was still at the computer stations and going through the many terminals that monitored the city. Dick could see the program that filtered through the variety of police scanner stations to alert them to any major crimes happening running quietly. There were a few things popping up here and there, but nothing that need immediate attention.

Alfred, however, was currently more interested in the baby-monitor that they had set up in Damian's room. (Dick wasn't one hundred percent sure that Bruce hadn't put up similar monitors in his and Jason's and Tim's rooms, but he hadn't found them yet.) It only went off when there was movement in the room, which was probably why Alfred was currently looking at it. Movement in a two-year-old's room after midnight wasn't generally a good thing. Squinting a little, Dick saw a big, black blob walk across the nursery before laying down in front of Damian's bed. Ace must have decided to keep Damian company for the night. That wasn't unusual. Ace liked to keep an eye on them, especially Damian.

Beside it would be a little hard for him to watch Tim and Jason since they were currently charging at Dick.

"Robin!" Tim said like he had been waiting forever to use that name. "You finally got to go out. What was it like?"

"Did you see any top-tiers?" Jason asked. "Was Ivy or Two-Face out?"

"Did you get to swinging across some roof tops?" Tim's face lit up. "Did you get to do a quadruple off a building?"

"Did you stop any murders? What about gang wars?"

They stared up at him with expected faces, which caused Dick's stomach to drop a little. As great as it had been to be out, really, he didn't get to do much tonight besides sit in the car and run across a couple of rooftops. There wasn't a whole lot going on their early in the night, which was exactly why Bruce had decided to start his patrol then. Now that he thought about it, it did kind of make for a boring first outing.

"Um...there was a mugging," Dick said.

Again, Jason's and Tim's faces lit up at the thought of seeing real action on the street with Batman.

"Did you get to hit the guy?" Jason asked.

"Did you stop it by yourself?" Tim added.

With a sigh, Dick said, "No. Bruce stopped it. I just handed the old lady back her purse."

The excitement drained out of Jason almost immediately, and even Tim didn't seem overly impressed with the thought.

"She gave me some toffee," Dick added. She had been so grateful for the help that Dick hadn't been able to refuse her offer. Most of the paper had stuck to it no matter how hard Dick had tried to peel it off, and it tasted like it was probably made about a decade before he was born; but his acceptance had made her happy. He would swear that Bruce had been laughing at him when they walked back to the car.

With a little sigh, Tim asked, "Did you at least get to go see the Commissioner?"

A smirk that Dick really didn't like grew on Jason's lips. "Yeah, Robin. Did you go show off your costume to your _girlfriend_?"

Dick felt his cheeks heat up. "She's not – she's not my girlfriend, Jason!"

Jason snorted but kept grinning at Dick's reaction. "You're right. She'd have to know you're alive to be your girlfriend."

The usually cool cave was nearly stifling for Dick as he pressed his lips and tried to think of something to say back to that. He couldn't, of course, because it was true. Barbara didn't know he was alive beyond the fact that he was the oldest kid living at Wayne Manor, but Jason didn't have to point that out every chance that he could. It wasn't like Dick cared anyway. He just wanted to be her friend because he knew how great of ones they would be. Nothing else.

Nope.

No way.

...right?

"Why aren't you two in bed?" Bruce asked as he pushed off his cowl and, thankfully, saved Dick from this conversation.

Tim ducked his head a little he thought Bruce was about to tell him he was disappointed in him or something for not being where he should be. Tim didn't do as much lately – not like when he first started to stay with them, and it had only taken Bruce looking at him for more than a second or so to get that kind of reaction. However, Tim still did it enough for all of them to notice.

Dick would never say it, but he really didn't like Tim's parents too much. He knew they could be a whole lot worse and did love Tim in their own kind of crappy way, but that still didn't make the way they treated Tim right.

Reaching over, Dick wrapped his arm around Tim's shoulder and pulled him into a one-arm hug. He grinned up at Dick and just let him hold him. Tim's head was still ducked a little bit, but this time it was more out of shyness than worry.

"Come one, B," Jason said. "It's Friday night. It's not like we have school tomorrow."

Bruce just raised an eyebrow in response, which – of course – made Jason cross his arms. Dick sighed at them. He wondered if there would ever be a time when Jason wouldn't try to push B, but then dismissed the thought as wishful thinking. Dick was just glad that by the time Jason was a teenager he'd be almost old enough to be out of the house. That wasn't going to be fun. He couldn't leave Tim and Damian to deal with it all by themselves, however. Maybe when he moved out he would just take them with him until that war was over. Alfred, too, because he shouldn't have to referee them either. Plus, that would also mean he would still get Alfred's cooking for a while longer. The idea was sounding better and better.

Still tucked under Dick's arm, Tim said, "Alfred said we could."

"Indeed I did," Alfred replied as he walked to the edge of the platform that the batcomputer sat on and looked down at them. "I also said that it was only for tonight, and that you and Master Jason were to head straight up once Master Dick returned."

Bruce grunted, which Dick took to mean that he was okay with that, before walked past them to join Alfred up at the computer.

Groaning, Jason said, "But it's the weekend, Alfred. Can't we stay up a little longer."

Dick held in a snort. Yeah, like that was going to work.

As predicted, Alfred just held Jason with a steady stare that made Jason shifted a bit uneasily. After he was satisfied with that, Alfred said, "As you well know, Master Jason, bedtimes in this household are non-negotiable, and this was a one-time exception for Master Dick's first –"

A harsh ringing broke through the relative quietness of the cave. Dick swore that it didn't make him jump, but Timmy's startled twitch did. Thankfully, Jason's attention was still on Alfred, who was frowning at the cordless house phone lying on an empty space on the computer. Most people didn't bother with landlines these days, but Alfred was insistent that they kept theirs for 'just in case' things. Honestly, Dick couldn't remember anyone calling on in the past four months, which just made it all the more bizarre.

As Alfred properly answered the phone with "Wayne Residence", Dick wondered, "Who'd call a house with kids after midnight?"

Jason considered it and then said, "Bootycall?"

"Jason!" Bruce snapped. However before he could say anything more, Alfred held out the phone to him and said, "Telephone, sir."

Frowning, Dick asked Jason, "Do you even know what that means?"

The look he gave Dick clearly said that he did, which was just wrong that an eight-year-old would know something like that. Even if it was Jason.

"Is that when your phone accidentally dials someone while it's in your pocket?" Tim asked.

"Yes," Dick said, cutting off Jason before he had a chance to corrupt him. "That's exactly what that is. Just...don't ever say call it that."

Tim narrowed his eyes and frowned. Ignoring Dick, Tim said to Jason, "It's something bad, isn't it?"

A tired sigh from Bruce pretty much killed the conversation. Tim's and Jason's heads snapped towards the sound as quickly as Dick's did. Dick could feel Tim' shoulders tense slightly under his touch, while Jason just became very still. Something wasn't right. What it was they didn't know, but all three of them knew that it wasn't good if B made that sound.

"No, I understand," Bruce said. "I'll let him know."

Hanging up the phone, Bruce handed it back over to Alfred before walking over to Dick and the others. His attention, however, was mainly on Tim. Dick couldn't keep the frown off his face and gave into the urge to hold Tim a little tighter still to his side.

"What's going on, B?" Jason asked.

Instead of answering him direction, Bruce looked down at Tim and said, "That was your father, Tim. He and your mother have decided to come home for awhile."

"Oh," Tim said quietly. "When will they be here?"

"Sunday."


End file.
